


Through the Screen

by ArchOfImagine



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Humor, M/M, season 9 divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2018-04-30 18:55:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 28,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5175929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchOfImagine/pseuds/ArchOfImagine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What would you do if you woke up in the Supernatural world?" A fan asked Misha.</p><p>Little did the actor know, but a few weeks later he would actually be finding out the real answer to that question. Because when Metatron tosses Castiel out of Heaven at the beginning of season 9 -- he tosses him right into Misha's universe. Now Misha is stuck in the Supernatural world, looking at his husband's face but a different man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This concept has been my pet project for a while now. It started with the idea of 'what if Misha (a version close to our universe's) switched places with Castiel?' What would happen to the two of them from that moment on? How would Castiel react to things like GISHWHES and SPN Conventions? These are not the J2M from 'The French Mistake' -- but they also aren't from our universe, either. 
> 
> I have a few chapters waiting and ready, but I can't promise any smooth posting schedule. I work best with a writing partner, and have recently gone solo so I'm doing what I can, for now. Special thanks to Jesse and CoppyBean for supporting me so thoroughly in my endeavors. True friends are well loved. <3

\--- **Misha** \---

**Saturday, August 24th, 2013  
Vancouver, BC, Canada**

“... to be fair, though, I really do need to give Jensen more limitations before he plans ‘surprise birthday getaways.’” Misha shook his head, leaning against the edge of the stool in the middle of the stage and glancing to his left where a fan had just asked about their most recent vacation disasterfest. He wasn’t surprised that fans were curious about the trip — or that his husband had happily told several stories about Misha’s mishaps. 

Jensen’s favorite pastime was talking about Misha’s misfortunes in the most loving way possible. 

He shook his head with a smile and finished answering the fan’s question, before turning to his right for the next question. 

“How would you react if you woke up one day in the Supernatural world?”

\---

When Misha walked off stage, he smiled at the sight of his husband leaning against the wall and waiting for him. He happily wrapped his arm around Jensen’s waist as they ducked through the doorway that lead to the back hall where they could traverse without running into fans.

Jensen poked at Misha’s side as they walked towards the green room set-up. “Was our vacation really that bad?”

“No. But it isn’t like I could tell them about the _good_ parts.”

“Great parts,” Jensen corrected.

“Those, too.” 

“By the way, Rich is the one that ate all of your hummus.”

Misha arched an eyebrow as he stared at his husband. “He did, huh? And it’s totally coincidental that before this very moment Rich has sworn hummus was the devil’s food?”

A pout appeared on the younger man’s face. “They didn’t bring in the chicken salad I asked for. They provided some store bought crap with _cranberries_ in it.” Jensen squeezed Misha’s hand gently. “Besides, we’re married. Remember that rule about what’s mine is yours, and what’s yours is mine?”

“Which always happens to apply to _my_ stuff more than yours.”

“Completely by accident.”

\--- **Castiel** \---

Having his grace pour out, it felt like every essence of his very being was being ripped from his fingernail. It was excruciating. And beyond that pain was the feeling of dread. The knowledge that his own plans to seek forgiveness were being thrown back in his face and causing the world even larger problems.

He thought suddenly of Sam and Dean. Wondering if their plans to close the gates of hell were faring better than he was. 

Metatron’s voice seeped back in, spewing words his hopes and dreams for Castiel. _Find a woman. Get married. Have babies._

He was an _angel of the Lord_. His role was to protect heaven and earth, not live a life of domesticity. He wanted to spit in Metatron’s face — but a moment later, a bright light was searing into his skin and he was _falling._

He had fallen before. Knew enough to expect the hard rush of ground and earth to greet him almost immediately (along with the pain of burning wings, of course).

Castiel was not expecting soft cushion and warm arms. A tight embrace pulling him closer as he jolted from the sudden landing.

Without hesitation, he pulled away from the arms holding onto him and sat up, glancing around an unfamiliar room and trying to figure out if Metatron had cast him into a dangerous situation, on top of throwing him out of heaven.

When he turned to see who he was sharing a bed with, though, he frowned at the sight of — “Dean?”

The other man rolled to face away, grumbling something about it being ‘too damn early to practice lines, Mish.’

Castiel stood, walking around the bedroom and slowly examining every minute detail. When he happened upon a framed image of himself and Dean standing in suits before an alter, his confusion grew. That was _not_ one of his memories. So either this was the future, or he had been cast into an alternate timeline. 

He moved back over to Dean and shook at his shoulders. “Dean, I need your help. Wake up. Something is wrong.”

Green eyes blinked open for only a second, before slamming shut once more. “Misha, we talked about this. Role-playing is a once a month thing, tops. And we did the Dean and Cas sex _last week._ ”

_Misha?_ “Dean — why do you keep calling me Misha?”

“Oh my God, I’m going to kill you.” Dean grumbled once more, before slowly sitting up and glaring at him. “What the fuck, man? Is this payback for the toothpaste incident? Because I told you - that was all Jared’s idea.” Silence surrounded them, and after a long moment, Dean’s glare softened into a frown. “Mish? What’s wrong?”

“Dean, my name is Castiel. I’ve just been thrown out of heaven by Metatron. I don’t—” His brain screamed _alternate universe_ and he was reminded that things were obviously different. “I don’t know a Misha.” 

“ _You_ are the Misha.” Dean pulled a hand up and rubbed between his eyes. “God, why am I even playing along with this mess? I need coffee.”

“Where is Sam? Maybe he can help explain. Is he…” Castiel frowned. “Closing the gates of hell didn’t kill Sam, did it?”

“There are no gates of hell, Misha. Have you hit your head?” Dean finally kicked his blanket away and Castiel took a step back as the other man got out of bed. “Seriously, was there an accident on set yesterday? Because you really should have told me, if something happened to your head.”

“Yesterday I was with _you_ finding the items for Metatron’s spell.”

“That was last season, Misha! You aren’t Castiel!” 

“I _am_ Castiel.”

“No. You aren’t. You are Misha Collins. You play _Castiel_ on a television show. And I’m not Dean Winchester, I’m Jensen. Jensen Ackles. Your _husband._ ”

Suddenly, Castiel was reminded of a time when Balthazar had needed to throw Sam and Dean into an alternate reality while Castiel was fighting Raphael for control of heaven. A lot had transpired since then, but Castiel could vaguely remember mentions of the brothers meeting a man named Misha that they had thought was Castiel, but turned out to just be an actor.

Oh. Oh this was… not good. He sat down on the edge of the bed and felt shaky. Memories of that time were flooding back. Thoughts of how the brothers hadn’t been able to go home, because of the lack of magic in that world. 

No magic. No way of contacting Dean and Sam. No way of coordinating a proper location so that they could pull him back into their universe.

He was stuck. Powerless in a world he didn’t know.

Unable to ever help Sam and Dean again. Unable to ever _see_ Sam and Dean again.

Tears stung his eyes and an emotional pain, a million times worse than the physical, overtook him.

Dean — no, not Dean — knelt before him and frowned, concern etched into every line on his face. “Misha, you’re scaring me.”

“I know that you don’t believe me,” Castiel said, softly, “but I assure you — I am not your Misha. Your Misha is gone. Stuck in my universe. I’m sorry.”

“This isn’t funny, anymore.” He stood, fearful anger taking over. “Stop it! Castiel is fake. He’s not real. _You_ are real. So tell me what is going on?” Jensen’s hand landed on Castiel’s arm, soft fingers brushing over his skin. It was a touch that screamed of familiarity, but Castiel had never felt it before. 

Then the fingers were gripping his wrist and turning his arm over, dancing along unblemished tan flesh. “Misha, where’s that damn scar from our honeymoon?”

Realization dawned on Castiel. Jensen was looking for the signs of an injury that Castiel had never suffered. “I’m sorry, Jensen,” he whispered once more.

It must have been the acceptance in Castiel’s voice, the use of Jensen’s name instead of Dean. Jensen dropped to the floor, his head falling into his hands as he sucked in a sharp breath. 

A few tense moments passed, before Jensen finally looked up, tears in his eyes. “Castiel — where is my husband? Can you… can you bring him back? Please say you can bring him back—”

He shook his head and held his hands out, palms turned upward. “Metatron stole my grace. I am powerless. I wish I could. But I’ll do everything in my power to find an answer, if it exists. I promise.”

\---

“This can’t be possible.”

“Believe me, I very much wish that this was just one big joke.”

“We should take him to the doctor. Maybe there was an accident on set and he has a concussion—” 

“That doesn’t explain the missing snorkeling scar.”

Castiel turned the corner of the hallway and smiled at the sight of the tall man leaning against a kitchen counter. “Sam!” He stepped forward without thinking, wrapping the younger man in his arms in a tight hug. “I haven’t seen you looking this good since before—” His words cut off as the look on Dean — er, Jensen’s — face reminded him that he wasn’t in his own universe. “Sorry. Sorry.” He stepped back. “Jared, right?”

“Yeah.” Jared offered an easy smile as he placed his hand on Castiel’s arm. “It’s nice to meet you, Castiel. A bit mind-boggling, but still…” A soft clap against Cas’ arm, and he was pulling away. “Jensen was just explaining to me what’s going on. From what we can understand, your timeline is slightly different from ours, but that would make sense, because for you, there isn’t a hiatus between the angels falling, and you waking up in that forest.”

His eyebrows knitted together as he stared at Jared. 

Apparently Castiel was realizing that Jensen and Jared knew the future of his universe, at the same time that Jensen was making the same connection. Across the kitchen, a glass dropped to the floor, bouncing and splattering water across the tile as Jensen let out a curse.

“Oh God. Misha. He’s gonna—”

Jared was moving in a flash, wrapping his arms around Jensen. “He knows the script, Jen. He’s a step ahead of everyone else for a few weeks. He just has to try and realize that.” 

Though Castiel wanted to ask what they knew about his universe that he didn’t know, the play of emotions on Jensen’s face had him biting his tongue and turning to step out of the kitchen. 

They hadn’t spent much time discussing what his role would be in that universe — whether or not he would need to play the part of Misha Collins until everything was sorted and back to normal. It was hard to make life-changing decisions like that when the morning had involved a lot of Jensen freaking out and calling others.

Castiel went to the back door and stepped out onto the porch. The fresh air was nice, and he found himself walking out to the yard without hesitation. He sat down in the grass and closed his eyes. The earth grounded him, reminded him that some things never changed no matter what universe he was in.

Although he would give anything to have his trenchcoat in the cool Canadian air blowing around him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so here's the thing -- this is as far ahead as I've gotten. I work 1000 times better with a sounding board pitching me ideas. So if you like this story, and it gives you a few ideas, feel free to contact me -- I'd love the help!

\--- **Misha** \---

He was cold. And wet. And… in the middle of a forest?

Misha pushed himself up into a sitting position and glanced around at the space surrounding him. The last thing he remembered was falling asleep in his husband’s arms, in their warm ( _dry_ ) Vancouver apartment. 

Dread settled into the pit of his stomach. Something had to be ten shades of wrong if he was in the middle of a forest. 

Except — part of what he was feeling started to seem like a dream. As he started walking, heading for what he hoped was a road, he got a sick sense of deja vu. 

Then he stumbled onto the pavement of a mountain road, heard the squealing of tires coming to a hurried stop, and turned to see a vaguely familiar pick-up truck.

They had filmed this scene two weeks before. Castiel stumbling from the forest, almost hit by a passing truck. The truck driver climbing out and saying…

“Hey, buddy. You okay?”

_Shit._

“What the hell you doing in the middle of the road like that?”

He used his right hand to pinch his left arm. It _hurt_ but he still had the distinct feeling that he was dreaming. 

Because the other possibility was absolutely ridiculous. Either he was dreaming or he had lost his mind and actually thought he was standing in a universe created for television.

\---

His first thought, upon getting dropped off at a nearby gas station, was to call his husband. Jensen was the voice of reason, the sane one in their relationship, he would definitely know what to do.

Unfortunately, as predicted by the Supernatural episode that he was currently living in — there was a large, grumpy looking biker standing at the phone. 

Live and learn. Misha left the man to finish his call and instead entered the small convenience store. He could remember the place where they had filmed that particular scene. It was an hour west of Vancouver and nothing more than a small mountain store with off-brand food and handmade trinkets. 

The alternate reality painted a very different picture. The place was in much better condition than he expected. He moved to the bored looking teenager behind the counter. “Hey, listen,” he turned up the acting a bit, pretending to be more than a little upset about his current situation. “My bastard ex just kicked me out of the car a mile up the road. Didn’t even give me a chance to grab my wallet. Can I use the phone to call my brother?”

“The payphone—”

“No change,” he lied. He had five dollars in his pocket from the nice guy that had almost ran him over, but he knew that he was going to need that for food if his life stayed on it’s current path.

“I’m not really supposed to—”

He stabbed his fingernail into his palm as hard as possible and felt tears hitting his eyes. “Please, man. If I don’t get home first, that psycho is going to burn my stuff. My _vinyls._ ”

The kid looked down at his vintage Rolling Stones t-shirt.

Hook. Line. Sinker. The teen motioned to a small office on the side of the back counter. “It’s right there. You’ve got ten minutes before my boss gets back from his lunch break.”

“I’ll be outta here in five.”

Jensen’s number didn’t work. Neither did Jared’s. Or his father’s. 

Misha was just about ready to throw the phone across the small office area when a thought occurred to him. _Fake world._ There was no Jensen or Jared in the world playing out around him.

Only Dean.

Though he highly doubted a fake 555 number would work, he slowly dialed the number that they were currently using on set as Dean’s cellphone number.

It rang twice before a familiar voice answered, gruff and not at all like _his_ Jensen. “Hello?”

“Dean?”

“Who is this?”

There was no immediate recognition and Misha frowned. Then he remembered that Castiel’s voice was a few octaves lower and tried again. “It’s me. I need your help.”

“Cas. Thank God. Where are you? Sam’s — Sam’s in bad shape. I need your help, buddy.”

“I’m in a small roadside gas station in Colorado. I’ve got five dollars that a passerby gave me and I’m being hunted by angels. If you — if you wire me some money, I can get to you. I can try to help.”

\---

It took two days by bus to get to Dean and Sam in the hospital. Every time the sun rose, Misha was certain he would wake back up in his universe — with Jensen smiling at him and Jared mocking how far he’d fallen into his character’s head.

Every morning, with that first crest of light, he was back in a hard seat on a Greyhound headed towards the impossible.

It was a mile long walk from the bus station to the hospital where Dean and Sam were. By that point, Misha had long since peeled off the trenchcoat and suit coat that Castiel was so fond of, and he walked into the building with the sleeves of Castiel’s white dress shirt rolled to his elbows. 

Knowing the script, he probably should have been better prepared for the bloodbath that he walked in on. Unfortunately his thoughts were so focused on his own universe and how to get back to it — and he didn’t realize what was happening until he was stepping into a blood puddle at the base of the nurses station. _Shit. Angels._

All of the years of fight training for scenes flew out the window and Misha glanced around in fear. Did he run? Scream? Hide? 

“Cas!” Misha looked to his left and was relieved to see _Dean_ walking into the building and towards him. Dean placed a steady hand on his upper arm and tugged him back towards the door. “Come on, I saw you walk in. Sam’s passed out in the car. What took you so long?”

“I was farther away than expected. The bus took forever.” He kept the Castiel voice intact for a little while longer. He didn’t want Dean to get smart and leave him stranded in a hospital full of angels out for his blood. 

Because despite his best hopes that the angels would know he was different — he didn’t see that dream panning out for long. The angels would probably take the opportunity to kill a weakened Misha and prevent Castiel from having a body to come back to.

He followed Dean back to the Impala and smiled at the sight of the familiar car. Dean’s version of the car was clean and well put together; windows all in place and no single sign of a spot for a camera to sit. 

Once glance into the backseat showed Sam passed out across the leather, just as Dean had said. Misha climbed into the passenger seat and waited for Dean to climb in and start the car. The rumble of the engine was distinctly louder than what he was used to, but it was still comforting, and he found himself relaxing into the seat as they drove away from the hospital.

“So what’s up with you, man? What happened to you?”

Exhaustion was starting to settle into his bones and Misha couldn’t find the strength to keep up the ‘Castiel’ persona. “Do you remember, a few years back, when Balthazar sent you to an alternate universe? One where your life was a television show and everyone thought you were an actor named Jensen?”

Dean pulled out onto the freeway, heading north, based on the signs. At the reminder of the events in _’The French Mistake’_ (not that he would know the title of the episode, Misha reminded himself), Dean chuckled. “Right. And you were some guy named _Misha._ ”

“Misha Collins,” he offered.

“Yeah? I don’t think I remember hearing his last name.” Dean frowned, glancing over at him. Apparently the ‘let’s risk our lives by never looking at the road’ thing happened in both universes. “What does this have to do with Colorado?”

“Because, Dean, Metatron captured Castiel, stole his grace, and tossed him from heaven. Only — he didn’t just toss him back down to earth. He tossed straight through to a different universe. And now I’m here.” He watched Dean pull off on the side of the highway and stare at him like he was insane. Misha _felt_ insane. He extended his hand across the front seat. “Nice to meet you, Dean Winchester. My name is Misha Collins.”

Dean didn’t reach for the proffered hand — just kept staring with a slack jaw. When he finally spoke, it was to mumble a quick, “You’re shitting me.”

And it was so atypical of a network-television-Dean that Misha almost choked back a sob. Because it was real. Right there in front of him. His husband — except _not_ his husband. Dean would never know how big of a roll Jensen played in Misha’s life, unless Misha broke down and told him. And really, what good would that do?

He fought back the pain in his heart and turned to Dean. “I can prove it. We’ve already filmed a few episodes of this season. I know that you let an angel possess Sam. That angel told you his name was Ezekiel. In truth — his name is Gadreel. He was the angel that let the devil into the garden of Eden, and if you don’t change things, he’s going to betray you.”

With wide eyes, Dean looked from Misha to the backseat where Sam lay. “You saw Zeke. I mean… you always see the angels, instead of just the human they’re possessing.” 

It was a good explanation, in theory, but Misha could see that Dean was grasping for straws. “I can’t see angels because I’m _not_ an angel. What I can do is repeat line for line the conversations you had while in that hospital. You know why? Because Jensen was on vacation and procrastinated learning his lines for the first episode. So the night before shooting we spent four hours practicing those first few scenes.”

“How…” Dean shook his head. “How do we fix this?”

“Honestly? I was hoping you could tell me.”

\---

They spent the next six hours in the car, trying to come up with ideas on how to fix what Metatron had done to them, while they drove back to the bunker. Unfortunately, every new idea was shot down almost as quickly as it was offered up.

Without a way of communicating with Castiel and Jensen, there was no way of working the spell to bring Castiel back and send Misha home. A doorway could be opened, yes, but Castiel would have to be waiting on the other side. And even then — how did they find the right alternate universe? Thinking about _that_ made Misha’s head hurt. 

He finally grew quiet as they got closer to the bunker. He had long since run out of ideas, and a miserable feeling was settling in the pit of his stomach.

The feeling that he might just be stuck in that world forever.

He might never see his husband again, despite the fact that the man was sitting right next to him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!

\--- **Castiel** \---

They stalled for a week, before the producers got antsy and wanted to know why Misha wasn’t on set for filming. Jensen could only claim that his husband was ‘sick’ for so many days.

“Did you read that script I left for you?” Jensen questioned, leaning against the door of the spare bedroom and staring in at Castiel. 

Like he had been for the past five days — Castiel was sitting at the desk in the bedroom, working on Misha’s laptop and trying to come up with a solution to his current dilemma. It would be a lot easier if he was still an angel and could tune into some semblance of angel radio in that universe.

The aforementioned script was laying next to the open laptop. Castiel had indeed read it, and though the concept of acting out his own life seemed easy enough, he was still worried about the whole mess. 

Mainly because the more of the script he read, the more he realized that he was seeing the life that his friends would be forced to endure. If he could simply get a message to them, he could warn them about what was waiting for them around every turn.

His only hope was that this Misha character knew enough to keep them out of danger.

“Listen, Cas,” Jensen started, scratching restlessly at the back of his neck. “I know this isn’t going to be easy. I know that those damn scripts might be directly related to what’s happening to Misha and Dean… But if we don’t go along with it, people are going to start asking questions.”

“It’s fine, Jensen. When do we leave?”

\---

Acting was a lot harder than expected. If Castiel had a choice, he would rather take on a thousand demons. In fact, as the day wore on, the more he realized how much he missed being able to _smite_ things. (Like frustrating producers and directors that kept walking up to him and spouting off terrible ideas for the next scene.)

Thankfully there was a trailer marked with Misha’s name on it that Castiel quickly found was a good place to hide out without being bothered. Jensen had presented him with copies of the episodes Misha had already filmed, in preparation for his own acting, and Castiel was stuck on one scene in particular.

_”Cas, you can’t stay here.”_

“Cas? You in here?” Castiel quickly reached for the remote and paused the video as Jared stepped into the trailer. Jared’s eyes flicked to the television screen, though, and recognition dawned on his face. “Jensen gave you the last few episodes to watch, huh?”

Castiel shifted on the couch. Ironically — he was back in his usual suit and trenchcoat. At least that was somewhat of a comfort. “He felt it would help me mimic Misha’s ‘style.’”

With a nod, Jared continued to stare at the screen. “It’s a rough season. The brothers are lying to each other again. And then this whole Gadreel mess, forcing Dean to kick Cas out—” He stopped suddenly and looked away from the screen. “Dean wouldn’t do that to Misha, would he? You said the timing is different in our worlds?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but quickly let it fall shut again. Before watching that particular episode, his answer would have been no — there was no way Dean would kick him _or_ Misha out. But then he saw that look in the eyes of the man on the screen, that sheer determination to always put Sam first, and doubt started to trickle in.

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

“Misha can be persuasive. I guess we’ll have to focus on that fact.” Jared settled onto the sofa next to Castiel with a gentle sigh. “How are things between you and Jensen? He seems very stressed — reasonably so, but still.”

“I can’t be the man he wants me to be, Sam.” Castiel frowned, immediately realizing his slip of the tongue. “Sorry. Jared.”

The other man didn’t let the mistake bother him. Instead, he placed a reassuring hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “Don’t be the man he wants you to be. Be who you are. He doesn’t want a replacement husband. It’ll be easier for him if the differences are clear between who you are and who Misha is. And, if you ever need a break from it, my house is right down the road, and you’re welcome there any time.”

\---

“I have a question.”

Two days later, Castiel was sitting beside Jensen in the Impala as they waited patiently while the film crew reset for the next take. 

One big thing had been bothering Castiel about the episode they were filming, though.

“What’s that?” Jensen replied, glancing over to him. They were alone, for the moment, and talking quietly enough that none of the crew members could overhear.

“There’s a time gap in the next couple of scenes. When you pick me up here, at my employer’s house, it’s night time — when you drop me off back at work, it’ll be daylight. What is happening in between those two moments?”

Jensen stared at him for a long quiet moment, before looking away and flexing his hands on the steering wheel of the Impala. “Cas, we can’t show every moment of their lives. We’re allowed forty-eight minutes of airtime. It’s hard to pack a substantial amount of information into that many minutes.”

That was all very plausible reasoning, except… “I feel like the audience will be left insinuating that there is an intimate relationship between myself and Dean.” Castiel frowned. “Does your own relationship with Misha, dictate how the characters are played?”

“Look, man, I don’t write the episodes. I don’t even give them ideas or input. So if the writers and network people want to portray the characters a certain way, then that’s their prerogative.” 

Castiel shook his head and turned in his seat to face Jensen. “Except they aren’t just _characters._ We aren’t just some messed up creation that your universe can do with as they please. The stories these people are creating are obviously having a direct connection with my world, and I won’t stand for them treating us like shit.” He was reaching for the car door handle before he even realized, and climbing out despite Jensen’s protests.

Until they started putting some actual thought into what they were writing, there would be no ‘Misha’ to play _their_ Castiel.

He was slamming his way into Misha’s trailer — wishing he could just fucking _fly_ and be out of there — when Jensen caught up to him. The other man tore into the trailer like he owned the thing, slamming the door shut behind him and glaring at Castiel. 

“You don’t get to run away from this shit! We’re in this because of _you._ ” Jensen pointed an angry finger at Cas’ chest, his emotions obviously boiling over. “ _You_ trusted Metatron. _You_ gave him the right components to cast this fucking spell. _You_ are the reason my husband is stuck God-knows-where and fighting for his life. So the least you can fucking do, is pull your panties out of your ass and do his job for him.”

“I—”

Jensen wasn’t finished. “Is it me? Or Dean? Which one of us do you have the issue with? I had always suspected that it was Dean holding back — keeping you two from becoming a thing — but now I’m beginning to wonder if it wasn’t you. It’s obvious that Dean is also into guys and asshole angels that are oblivious… so maybe you’re just too high-and-mighty for him, huh? Is that your problem with this fucking scene? Don’t want a few fans assuming that you would bend over and give it up for a measly human?”

“Dean doesn’t want me!” Castiel argued, on instinct.

“Bull. Shit.”

\--- **Lincoln Springs, Missouri - 2013** \---

_”You have done this a thousand times, Castiel. You’re ready. Kill him.”_

With Naomi’s words ringing in his head, it was easier to give in to the brainwashing. Easier to pretend that this wasn’t the real Dean that he was fighting. Just another body laid out on a tile floor. Just another vision.

Except this one was talking back. Blocking the punches. _Pleading._

_”I won’t hurt Dean.”_

_“Yes. You will. You are.”_

“Cas!”

There was so much blood. So much anger. Dean staring back at him — the righteous man, all cut up and broken.

“Cas!”

_”Please.”_

Another hit.

_”End this, Castiel.”_

“Cas. Cas. I know you’re in there. I know you can hear me. Cas… It’s me. We’re family. We need you.”

“I need you.”

_I love you._

\---

Castiel sat on the sofa in Jared’s study and stared at the glass of whiskey in his hand. After the earlier argument with Jensen, there was no way he could handle going back to Misha’s home.

They had rescheduled filming after yet another excuse from Jensen about ‘Misha’ being sick still. There was no way he could go on pretending to play himself, when he wasn’t even sure he _knew_ himself.

“Jen called.” Jared placed a pizza box onto the coffee table, before settling into the chair opposite of Castiel’s. “He said he wants to apologize to you, when you’re ready. Said earlier was just a boiling point of emotions, thanks to all that has happened.”

“Do you think Dean loves me?”

Jared stopped at the question, a slice of pizza pulled halfway out of the box. “What?”

“I’m struggling with where the connection between my universe and this one stops. Is everything on the show real? Will it really happen? Or are there differences beyond what a simple television program has written. Are our lives determined based on what these writers put on paper?”

“Well,” Jared left his pizza for the moment and sat back. “I’m no expert on multi-verse theory, but I would say no, probably not. You existed before the show started. Your Dean and Sam existed before the show.”

“My Dean,” Castiel whispered, finally drinking down the whiskey. “How could the righteous man love such a terrible angel?”

“To be fair, how could he not?” Jared stood, walking over to a cabinet that held a large collection of DVDs. He began pulling boxes from the cabinet and tossing them onto the sofa next to Castiel. “You saved him from hell, in season four. Season five, you fought against heaven and your own kind to protect him. Season six was a bit of a bust. But seven.. man, he loved you so deeply by that point that he carried around your trenchcoat in the trunk of the Impala, like he couldn’t accept that you were actually dead. And then there’s this…” Jared moved back over, holding out a box that had ‘Supernatural Season Eight’ written on the front of it. “He risked his life in purgatory, just to find you. And Dean was the only person that could break you from Naomi’s spell.”

Castiel pulled the DVD box into his hand and stared at it, remembering the blood. The sound of Dean’s bones breaking thanks to Castiel’s fists. There was no way Dean could love him after that…

Jared sat back down and let out a soft chuckle. “To answer your question, Castiel: yes, Dean loves you. And to answer the other question… I don’t think any writer in this universe is talented enough to imagine and create a love story like yours.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The worst part about this fic is the inclusion of facts from actual episodes -- so please understand that I've taken some artistic liberties about what Misha would and would not know (including minor spoilers about how an entire season is going). Without those blips, I'm pretty sure this story would drive me insane.

\--- **Misha** \---

Filming in the ‘bunker’ was a mish mash of walking out of one room and back onto a film set. Being in the actual bunker, was something Misha never could have predicted his reaction to. The place was expansive and intimidating.

And then there was Kevin. Misha was so used to the crazy spunk of Osric, that it was difficult to see stressed-to-his-limits Kevin. After sitting on the edge of the room while everyone else had a short conversation about Metatron’s spell and Sam’s current condition, Misha eventually slipped down one of the side hallways, bypassing the kitchen and going in search of an empty bedroom. He was exhausted. Lonely and exhausted.

Tossing Castiel’s coat onto the room’s desk, he also kicked off his shoes and stripped off his belt, before falling onto the bed. He was restless, but knew that sleep was a long ways off. He had too many things running through his mind.

Finally, after twenty minutes of deep breathing exercises to keep the panic at bay, he sat up and moved across the room to the desk. He searched the drawers until he found a pad of paper and a pen, and quickly began writing a list.

_Things I will miss, if I’m not back in a month:_

_— GISHWHES_  
— Convention in Vancouver  
— Anniversary 

On any other day, he would laugh at the idea of Castiel handling the first two items on the list. But as soon as he began writing out the word _anniversary_ , tears flooded his eyes. He missed Jensen. He missed Jensen _a lot._ And it wasn’t like they hadn’t spent time apart before, hell Misha had gone on a two month convention tour in Europe and Asia while Jensen stayed home to film. It was just the idea that maybe there wasn’t an answer. Maybe there wasn’t a solution that would get him back to his husband.

\---

“And you just _left him_ in there?”

“I’m not exactly the go-to-person when it comes to dealing with people and _emotions_ , okay? That’s Sam’s job!”

“Yeah, well, Sam is busy healing from the damn trials and dealing with whatever angel bullshit you signed him up for. And you — _you’re_ the one that brought home a kinda-not-really-Castiel. If the guy is having issues getting acclimated to our universe, that is all on you!”

“I get it, Kevin, I do, but that doesn’t mean I know what to tell the dude—”

Misha decided that was about all he needed to hear. It was early morning and after a sleepless night, he was hoping the bunker had some tea and breakfast stocked in it’s cupboards. Overhearing Kevin and Dean discussing Misha’s breakdown the previous night, had _not_ been part of the plan. 

He bypassed the two other men, who continued to stare at him in surprise, and went searching through a few of the upper cabinets. After a moment, he turned to Dean and asked quietly, “Would you happen to have tea stashed somewhere?”

“I uhm… I think Sam has some hiding in the cupboard over the fridge?”

With a nod, Misha focused his searching on that particular cupboard, ignoring the sounds of Kevin slipping out of the room behind him. Misha pulled an electric teapot and a box of Chai from the cupboard and let the water begin heating as he turned back to Dean. “Has Sam woken up? Did you lock Crowley in the dungeon?”

Dean poked a finger at what looked to be leftover pizza on his plate, before meeting Misha’s gaze. “You really do know more than we do, don’t you?” Misha nodded. “Sam’s still crashed out in his room. I got him to wake up long enough to walk in from the car. And fucking Crowley… he’s in the dungeon and I have no idea what to do about him.”

He would never get used to hearing Dean curse, that was for sure. “To be honest? You should probably kill him now while you have the chance. The only reason why we keep him around on the show, is because he has his moments of being a fan favorite. Not to mention, it’s easier for the writers to have a constant bad guy.” He found a coffee cup and poured hot water over a teabag to let it steep. “If you don’t kill him now, while you have the chance, he’s going to become a bit of a bitch real soon.”

“What if he knows how to get you back? Hell, there’s still hope that he knows how to help us translate the demon tablet.”

Misha shook his head, carrying his cup over to sit across from Dean. “He doesn’t. Any attempts to get his help will end with him demanding to talk to Abaddon, which will end badly.”

“How badly?”

“Rumors in the writing room had Crowley turning you into a demon by the end of the season.”

“ _Shit._ ” Dean seemed utterly uninterested in his food at that point. “I should wait until Sam is awake.”

“Until Gadreel is out of Sam, I think you need to assume that you aren’t just speaking to your brother. I’ve read the script, coming up, that has Gadreel working with Metatron. Killing Kevin. Pretending to be Sam just to keep you in the dark.”

Dean’s fist clenched tight on the tabletop. “How am I supposed to believe any of this? What am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know.”

The fist landed hard against the table. “That isn’t good enough! God, this would be a lot easier if Cas was here.”

Misha rolled his eyes. “Thanks.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“No, I get it.” He picked his cup up and stood. “Believe me, I wish your boyfriend was here instead of me, as well. I wish I wasn’t stuck in this fucking universe where the Winchester brothers fuck up over and over. I wish I was at _home_ with my husband and my job and my life.” He headed for the door. “If you need me, you know where to find me.”

Jensen would have followed him out of the kitchen and back down the hallway to Misha’s room. Because Jensen couldn’t stand arguing and _hated_ knowing that Misha was angry with him. Misha knew better than to expect footsteps to follow him, though. Because he was walking away from a Winchester… and Winchesters loved to fight.

\---

It was Sam that eventually came looking for him. The young man looked worn down and weary, but still had a twinkle in his eye that reminded Misha of Jared’s mischievous ways. Sam closed the bedroom door behind him, and moved over to sit at the room’s desk without saying a word.

Misha hadn’t known what to do with himself, and because of the circumstances, his mood had fallen into a quick pit of depression. He laid curled up on the bed, eyes tracking Sam’s movements.

“There’s a case.” Sam began. “Somewhere outside of Eugene, Oregon. We’ve gotten a few calls from other hunters about it.”

“It’s Abaddon.”

“That’s what Dean assumed. He has an idea about killing her, though.”

“Doesn’t work. She’s a Knight of Hell. Only one thing can kill her.”

Sam frowned, “What, exactly?”

Misha shook his head, they hadn’t gotten that script yet. “No idea. Did Dean tell you about Gadreel?”

“Unfortunately, yes. But Gadreel and I have opened up a line of communication. Dean’s hoping that with your help, we can prevent the bad from happening. Can prevent Kevin…” His voice trailed off, but the rest was obvious. _Prevent me from killing Kevin._

With a sigh, Misha sat up and leaned forward, running a tired hand over his face and through his hair. “I’m married, you know.”

Sam slid to the edge of his chair and nodded. “Dean said you mentioned a husband.”

“Jensen. My husband’s name is Jensen.”

The younger Winchester brother was definitely no idiot — and the name registered understanding immediately on his face. “ _Shit._ No wonder you’re having a hard time.”

“Our anniversary is in three weeks — I’m going to miss it because of this bullshit. And I have to sit here, right down the hall from a man that looks just like my husband and wants nothing to do with me.” Misha let out a self-deprecating laugh, “Hell, he doesn’t even like men!”

“Except…”

The thought trailed off, unfinished. Misha looked back to Sam, who was avoiding his gaze. “Except?”

“Well, you and I both know the truth, I suspect. That even though Dean would never admit it outloud, there has always been something between him and Castiel.” 

With a shrug, Misha replied, “A part of me always assumed that was because of mine and Jensen’s relationship. That it bled over onto the screen.”

Sam stood, walking over and laying a hand on Misha’s shoulder. “You need to stop thinking of this universe as a _television show._ We’re real, Misha. What happens here is not exclusively because of what happened in your world. The outcomes can be completely different, at any point.” He finally turned and stepped away, moving towards the door. “Hell, maybe even you just being here has changed things.”

“Sam,” Misha called out, catching the taller man before he slipped out of the room.

Sam turned back and arched an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Do me a favor, okay?” When Sam nodded, Misha continued. “Kill Crowley. I’m being completely honest here when I tell you that he will lead you down a bad road, that will risk Dean’s humanity. Kill him now, while you have the chance.”

“But—”

“ _Please._ ”

\---

Two days later, despite Misha’s warnings, Sam and Dean left for Oregon. Misha knew that all they would find there was destruction and pain, but he couldn’t stop them. He stayed behind in the bunker with Kevin, working on researching how to get back home. It was a long shot, but he knew that he couldn’t just give up or give in to the depression. He had to use his longing to be home — let it fuel his need for answers.

But if he had to stay, at least one problem was solved. Dean and Sam had listened to Misha and Kevin’s arguments and done the right thing, for once.

The bunker’s dungeon was empty again, and they had one less bad guy to worry about.

Hopefully killing Crowley was a step in the right direction, and didn’t have repercussions that they wouldn’t see coming. Because the King of Hell’s death meant they were completely off script now. 

MIsha had no idea what would happen next.

“I think the easiest answer would be to find Metatron,” Kevin mused, placing a cup of coffee in front of Misha and motioning to the books spread out on the table. “The problem is, the guy is a grade A prick, and doesn’t like to negotiate.” 

He nodded — those had been his own thoughts from the beginning. “We’d have to have leverage on him. Beyond just ‘we’ll kill you if you don’t talk.’”

“Not to mention finding him. Best guess is, he’ll camp out in heaven for the foreseeable future.”

MIsha frowned, quickly reaching for a notepad and pen. “Until he comes for Gadreel’s help. We could set him up then, if we had Gadreel on our side. At least catch him.” He began scribbling out thoughts on the paper… trying to remember how the scenes between Gadreel and Metatron had played out. 

If he ever got back to his own universe — he swore that he would read the entire script for an episode, instead of just skimming for the scenes he was a part of. Who knew when it might come in handy.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will defeat all writer's block! Mwahaha!
> 
> (also I realize that the Seattle gishwhes meet happened a year after when this story is set, but since I was at that particular meet and knew how it went, I used it as reference. sue me)

\--- **Castiel** \---

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t think _anyone_ understands. That’s kinda the point.” 

“And I have to do this?”

“It’s Misha’s thing. I mean he has a whole group of people helping out — but you have to show some participation.” 

Castiel looked up from the computer screen and watched Jensen sipping on a cup of coffee. A few minutes prior, Jensen had informed him that it was the week when Misha normally participated in an event called ‘GISHWHES’ — Castiel was really beginning to fear for the actor’s sanity. How could he handle Castiel’s universe when he normally did things like convince people to get an image of a priest tattooed on their body for charity. 

Although, compared to that, it wouldn’t be difficult to convince the Winchester brothers that he was speaking the truth.

“I don’t quite understand what I have to do,” Castiel answered, honestly. 

Jensen motioned down to the paper that he had laid in front of Castiel. “I got that this morning from the woman that runs the hunt. Apparently the main worry is that you have to make an appearance at the meet-up that they have scheduled already. You have to show up, encourage the fans to do crazy shit, and then leave once the event is over.”

The word _’fans’_ had Castiel’s stomach turning and face brightening. Angels never dealt with ‘panic’ — even in the face of clear and present danger, they were calm and collected — but he wasn’t an angel in any sense of the word, anymore. And he knew damn well that the feeling rushing over him was nothing more than sheer panic. “I can’t...can’t…”

“What if I went with you? 

Castiel frowned. He hadn’t seen much of Jensen and Misha’s world, but he knew for a fact that anytime Jensen or Jared went out in public, they were suddenly swarmed by fans. It was one of the reasons why a big burly man followed them around and provided security. “Would that really be a good idea?”

With a soft chuckle, Jensen shook his head. “Probably not. But Mish was always a fan of creating havoc, so why not a little bit more?”

\---

They were late arriving at the event. Adding on the extra security and ‘issue’ that surrounded having Jensen there as well, was a headache and a hassle all rolled into one. Jensen made it explicitly clear to the security detail that they were to observe and remain a large enough distance away so that the fans didn’t feel impeded by his or their presence.

Castiel just pulled at the hem of the sweater he was wearing and prayed (not for the first time) to be transported back to his universe.

Too bad God wasn’t real.

The place where they finally ended up, was a large community center building. Castiel and Jensen followed the directions of the volunteers, until someone motioned for Castiel to step forward and look into a window. When he did so, he immediately frowned at the sight before him. 

A floor below, in a large gymnasium, stood hundreds of men and women… dressed in almost identical outfits, along with some kind of weird hats with various materials on them. 

As soon as the fans spotted him, a loud cheer erupted amongst them. 

“Smile,” Jensen growled from his left. “ _Wave._ ”

Castiel tried to plaster on a smile like he had seen _Misha_ do in photos, and lifted his hand to wave. A few fans waved back excitedly.

A moment later, Jensen stepped up beside him, so that he could be seen in the window as well, and (as Dean would put it) the fan’s collectively ‘lost their shit.’

The volunteers hurried them along towards a set of stairs and when Castiel saw the entrance to the gymnasium, he felt ill. His pace slowed — which didn’t make sense, since he was an _angel_ , leader of his garrison… he had killed countless demons and evil beings, and he was afraid of a few human fans?

Yes. Very.

Jensen noticed that he had stopped, and quickly turned back. He grabbed Castiel’s hand, lacing their fingers together before tugging. When Castiel still didn’t move, Jensen stepped forward — close enough that when he spoke, only Castiel could hear. “Cas, listen, I know it’s scary. I get it. My first few years as an actor I _hated_ these things. But these fans have come a long way to see _you._ You can back out now. And I’m going to be right here next to you.”

With a nod and a deep breath, Castiel wove a tale in his mind that it was Dean holding his hand, a moment before they were to go into a battle that would surely cost them their lives.

Remarkably, it helped.

\---

Misha and his band of volunteers had apparently demanded that all of the fans show up dressed as French maids, in an effort to break some kind of record. That explained the outfits. The hats? Also some kind of record breaking attempt.

It was all fine — until Castiel stepped up to the front of the room and the fans began demanding that he and Jensen also put on matching outfits. Castiel turned to the other man and gave him a look that clearly said ‘this is insane, why are we here?’

And then someone shoved a black dress at him.

To his left, Jensen laughed, holding a similar dress.

It all went downhill from there.

Castiel had _never_ had his picture taken so many times. And then he was expected to _judge_ a contest to see whose hat was craziest. A couple hours into the madness and he looked up, hoping to find Jensen and ask if it was okay to leave yet, only to find that the other man had wandered off.

“Misha!” Someone called, before a hand grabbed onto his arm. “We’re going to move everyone outside and try for the hula hoop thing—”

If the volunteer holding onto him expected Castiel to know what a hula hoop was, they were sorely mistaken. “Uh, sure. Have you seen Jensen?”

“Pretty sure he went to order pizza for the volunteers. Now…” A megaphone was thrust into his hands. “Work your magic and wrangle up the masses.”

The amount of power that Misha Collins wielded over his fans was _unhealthy_. If they were in Castiel’s universe, he was pretty sure Misha would need to be smited. The man held more power than even Crowley dreamed of having.

“Hey.” As the last of the fans filed out of the gym, leaving Castiel standing without any idea of what to do next, he felt a hand resting on his lower back as Jensen stepped up to his side. “I’ve talked to the guys in charge. They said once we make it through this next part, we’re free to go. And don’t worry… you’re doing amazing. No one suspects a thing.”

“Why do—” Castiel paused, waiting for someone to walk past before continuing, his voice low, “Why do all of these people listen to Misha?”

The look in Jensen’s eyes was unreadable. Somewhere between devastation and utter awe. “Misha is just… it’s hard to describe. There’s something about him and his personality that makes you want to do what he says. Thank God he never uses his powers for evil.”

That was a very accurate statement.

\---

“Twelve people!”

“We had no control over the weather.”

“ _Twelve people_ went to the hospital.”

“There was no way of predicting this would happen.”

“This is my fault.”

“Cas… how could this possibly be your fault?”

He took a deep breath, leaning his head against the car window. “If I was still an angel, I could have helped them.”

Jensen didn’t seem to have a reply to that, so he continued driving through the downtown streets in silence. Castiel hadn’t bothered to ask where they were going — he didn’t really care — all he knew was that they were in the middle of the city (Seattle) and not going back to the house where they had been staying.

When they finally pulled up at the doors of a large building, Jensen stopped the car and climbed out, handing the keys to a valet. Castiel waited a long moment, before getting out of the car as well. The upscale appearance of the place made him miss the dingy motels where he used to stay with the Winchesters. 

“Where are we?”

Jensen grabbed a small suitcase from the trunk of the car and headed for the doors. “We’re not heading back to Canada until tomorrow, so I got us a room for the night here.” He was halfway to the entrance when he stopped, gaze seeming far away. “This is Misha’s favorite hotel.”

There was nothing Castiel could say to that, to make the other man feel better, so he remained silent and followed Jensen inside the hotel — waiting patiently while the other man checked them into a room.

Riding the elevator to the fourteenth floor, Castiel laughed. “I don’t think the Winchesters even know that hotels this nice exist.”

Beside him, Jensen chuckled. “Yeah. They aren’t really five-star people, are they?”

“No.” He didn’t mention the fact that the brothers definitely _deserved_ to be that type of people, after everything they had sacrificed for the world. It seemed like Jensen’s sudden silence meant he already understood. As they walked the hall towards their room, Castiel noted the suitcase Jensen rolled at his feet. “Where is my bag?”

Stopping at the door with 1421 on it, Jensen produced a keycard and opened it. “Usually when it’s just a night or two, Mish and I share a bag. I packed an outfit for you by habit—” He looked back at Castiel standing in the doorway. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He stepped past Jensen and into the room, his pace slowing when he noted the solitary king size bed in the middle of the space. He frowned. Back at Jensen and Misha’s house in Canada, Castiel had been staying in a guest room… blatantly avoiding any kind of intimate contact with Jensen, for fear of reminding the man of his missing husband.

He once again wished that he still had the powers of an angel… still had the ability to sit all night without needing sleep.

“Fuck.” The door shut and Jensen stepped closer. “Apparently I also forgot to change the room type to a double. We’ve had this reservation for a few weeks now, anticipating spending the night here after the meet up.”

“It’s fine.” Castiel motioned to a tiny sofa sitting in the corner of the room. “I’ll sleep there.”

“No no no. You’ve had an exhausting day… I’ll sleep there.”

With a shake of his head, Castiel knew that he wasn’t in the mood for arguing at the moment. “Maybe we should eat dinner and then decide.”

Looking relieved, Jensen nodded. “Great idea! There’s a steakhouse right across the street. Just give me fifteen minutes to shower, and we’ll head over.”

Castiel watched him retreat to the bathroom, before moving over to sit on the sofa that he was definitely going to be sleeping on.

Too bad he had felt more comfortable rocks on the sides of volcanoes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I'M SO SORRY. *hides*

\--- **Misha** \---

When 72 hours had passed and they still hadn't heard word from Sam or Dean, Misha started to get antsy. He couldn’t remember exactly how things would play out, didn’t know if his actions to that point would change history enough to start making the timeline different, thus rendering his attempts to plan for the future completely useless.

“I'm going out,” he finally told Kevin. “Is there a car I can use?”

“There’s a ton in the garage upstairs. The ones on the right have gas. Keys are on the wall and labelled.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, waving towards Kevin before heading upstairs. The garage was filled with a surprising amount of cars, but he wasn’t in the mood for drawing attention in a flashy vintage car, so he grabbed the keys to an old pick-up truck that was sitting on the ‘gassed up’ side and went with that. 

After having hid in the bunker for a few days, it was weird to be back out in the world and reminded so blatantly that he wasn’t at home. The bunker sat at the end of a long dirt road, which he followed slowly before turning left and heading towards the small town he remembered driving through on the way in with Dean. He didn’t have money or a real plan for what he was going to do once he reached the town, but all he was really worried about was getting away from the stuffiness of the bunker and getting his thoughts back in check.

Misha parked the truck in a spot on main street, and got out to wander slowly down the somewhat busy sidewalk. A glimpse at the local newspaper on stand said that it was Saturday, which explained the crowds. He followed the stream and found a farmer’s market set up on one of the side streets. Shit…

_”When I offered to let you pick today’s honeymoon adventure… I expected something involving a smaller crowd and less clothing.”_

He stopped dead in his tracks and squeezed his eyes shut… remembering his husband’s voice so clearly. Instead of a destination honeymoon, they had done a roadtrip along the 101 on the Pacific coast. It had involved a lot of random stops and a lot of car sex, but was definitely Misha’s idea of a good time. Jensen, of course, had spent most days complaining about the whole idea, but they both knew he was enjoying himself just as much as Misha was.

“Well, well, well.” 

The menacing tone, spoken right next to his ear, had Misha jumping out of his thoughts of the past and spinning to see who was talking to him. A man in a well pressed suit was there, knowing smile and menacing eyes. Suddenly, Misha realized his mistake — if he had stopped mourning his life for five seconds and remembered the script, he would have realized that Castiel had quite a few people gunning for him.

And here he had left the bunker without a weapon. Hell, didn’t even know how to use a weapon if he had one.

“Castiel, I didn’t expect it to be so simple to find you. Bartholomew made it seem like you’d put up more of a fight.”

His eyes darted ahead to the crowd in the market, and he knew his best course of action was going to be to run for it. Unfortunately, before he could make his move, two more angels in well pressed suits stepped up in front of him.

“You aren’t going anywhere, _brother_ ,” the original man sneered.

\---

Stepping into the bunker, Dean descended the stairs with his brother following close behind, and dropped his go-bag on a nearby table. The bunker was unusually quiet, and Dean felt a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. To be fair, the feeling had followed him home all the way from Oregon. After telling Abaddon that Crowley was dead, the Knight of Hell had been surprisingly easy to deal with. Unfortunately, she was now in charge of hell and they still had to figure out a way of getting rid of her.

“Hey, guys.”

Dean looked up, watching Kevin walk out of the kitchen carrying a plate of food. “Hey.” His eyes flickered to the hallway that lead to the bedrooms, “How’s our guest?”

Kevin shrugged as he sat down. “Fine, I guess. He left for town this morning and I haven’t heard from him since.”

_Shit._ “Did he take a phone with him?”

Apparently Dean’s concern made Kevin focus a little more. The kid looked confused, before shaking his head, “He just said he needed to get away. I think he was getting a little antsy waiting for you guys to get back.”

“Dean.” He spun around to see Sam’s eyes glowing, a sign that Gadreel had taken over. The angel looked worried. “I’ve been able to hear pieces of angel chatter — I believe they were forming a group, taking vessels and searching for Castiel.”

Double shit. Dean moved back towards the stairs. “Any idea which direction he headed? Or at least which car he took?”

“The old Ford, I think?”

As they went back up the stairs, Dean questioned Gadreel, “Can you track him?”

“Not very well.”

\---

It was unsurprising that years of fake ‘fighting’ didn’t at all prepare Misha for what the real thing felt like. Sure, he’d had his share of tousles, received a few punches here and there, but never anything like he was currently feeling.

“Tell us how to reverse Metatron’s spell!” The demand was punctuated with another fist to the face, and Misha groaned. Everything was swollen, blood dripping from his nose down over his chin. They had his arms tied up above his head, and had stripped his shirt off to give them better access to cut along his bare chest with an angel blade.

“I told you,” he whispered, hanging his head forward. “I’m _not_ Castiel.” They had been there for hours at that point, but it didn’t matter how many times Misha tried to explain what had happened, the angels didn’t care. They thought he was just making up nonsense in an attempt to avoid torture.

A voice from the doorway spoke up, “Bartholomew is on his way. He says to leave Castiel for a while. Give him a chance to decide if he wants to live or die.”

Fuck. He was fucked. “So stupid,” he mumbled to himself after the door had closed behind the angels, leaving him alone.

He’d already filmed the scenes with the reaper killing Castiel — why had he walked out of the bunker like an idiot?

The problem was, he wasn’t sure where he was in relation to where the angels had found him. There had been a blindfold and a knockout in the back of a van, when he tried the first time to explain that he had nothing to do with Castiel. 

His initial worries when he woke up in the damn Supernatural universe were correct: if the angels wanted to kill him just to prevent Castiel from having a body to come back to, they would.

He was a fucking _actor_... he had never done anything to deserve dying in a basement!

_”They’ll come for you.”_

Misha lifted his head back up and frowned. That was his husband’s voice.

_”Yup.”_

A body moved into view and Misha felt like crying when he saw the man that he loved standing before him. _Except…_ “You aren’t real.”

_”Unfortunately… no. You’re suffering from a lot of blood loss and I’m just your brain trying to keep you alive.”_

“I miss you,” he whispered, tears blending with the blood on his face. “I miss you so fucking much.”

The Jensen before him nodded, stepping closer and brushing a finger through Misha’s hair, just above his right ear. _”I know. I miss you, too, Mish. But you’ll never see me again if you stop fighting.”_

One of the muscles in his arm started to cramp and he cried out in agony at the shooting pain. “I can’t!”

_”You can. You can fight this.”_

“It hurts.” It felt like his whole body was seizing up. “Make it stop, Jen. Please make it stop.”

_”Dean is coming. It’ll be over soon.”_

“He won’t know where to find me.”

_”He’s Dean Winchester — he does the impossible every day.”_

There were voices in the hallway outside of the room he was in. Misha blinked and saw the vision of his husband starting to fade. “No! Please don’t go. Don’t leave me here…”

_”I love you, Mish. Keep fighting.”_

The door flew open and suddenly Jensen was gone and more angels were walking in, obviously ready for the next round of torture. They moved apart and Misha caught a glimpse of the man that he knew was Bartholomew. _Fuck._ He hung his head again, waiting for the next hit.

“Castiel… I expected more from you, brother. After all of the stories told in Heaven about your existence; to see this puny person before me is a bit disappointing.”

Misha spit, watching his own blood land on the floor. “I’m not Castiel,” he mumbled for what felt like the thousandth time. “As I told your goons… when Metatron cast his spell, he knocked Castiel out of Heaven and into my universe.”

“So,” Bartholomew stepped closer, running the edge of his blade along Misha’s collar bone. “You’re Jimmy Novak? Castiel’s vessel?”

Angels of Heaven were a bit dense. “I’m Misha Collins,” he growled. “An actor that plays Castiel on a television show.”

The room erupted into laughter. Even Bartholomew seemed to find Misha’s words hilarious. “A tall tale. One that’s quite unbelievable. There’s no reason why Metatron’s spell should have messed with the universes around ours.” The blade moved, brushing over the spot where Misha could feel his heart pounding. “But tell me, if your story is true, why should I bother keeping you alive? You’re of no use to me… and getting rid of you, will save us a lot of trouble if Castiel tries to find a way back.”

Misha shook his head, “There’s nothing to suggest that killing me will have any affect on him.”

“Worth a try, though, right?”

Suddenly, another man appeared at the doorway, gaining Bartholomew’s attention. “Sir, the Winchester’s are here.”

“Of course,” Bartholomew sneered. “Even a man that claims to _not_ be Castiel, has those pests following him. Well, let’s leave them a present, shall we?”

It happened in just a blink, but Misha lifted his head and watched as if time were standing still. Bartholomew drew back the angel blade, and moment later, thrust it forward… piercing Misha’s skin and on through his heart.

He blinked slowly once... twice more, before the darkness took over.

\---

It had been a bitch to find the location. Finding the old Ford was the easy part, but having Gadreel trace Misha’s movements from that point on, was next to impossible. Finally, he heard word over angel radio that ‘Castiel’ had been captured and they were waiting for some douchebag named Bartholomew to arrive, before they made their next move.

Dean had the pedal to the floor in the Impala, but still had a bad feeling about what they would find when they got to the location that Gadreel provided.

When they finally arrived, a state over and three hours later, cars were pulling away from an old farmhouse. “What’s going on?” he asked, blinking over to Sam as he slowed the car.

Sam’s eyes flashed and Gadreel answered, “The angels are leaving.”

“Who do we follow?”

“I do not know.”

Were they running? If so, what were they running from? Parking outside the house, Dean shut off the Impala and made sure he still had an angel blade tucked in his jacket. He climbed out, with Sam following suit, blade already in hand.

The house was eerily quiet. Dean motioned for Sam to check upstairs, as he took the first floor. The place was empty. 

“I got nothing,” Sam called, coming back down the stairs.

Dean was at the edge of a staircase that seemed to lead to a basement. As he descended, the feeling in his stomach got worse. Something was wrong. Downstairs, another hallway, with one lone door at the end. Dean moved forward, blade at the ready, but stopped short when he pushed the door open and saw what was inside.

“ _No!_ ”

Misha hung from a crossbeam, blood dripping from numerous wounds and head bowed forward. 

It was the blade sticking out of his heart, that had Dean biting back bile. He rushed forward, checking for a pulse even though he knew there wouldn’t be one. He turned his head and pulled the blade free, letting it drop to the ground as he looked to Sam. His brother had a hand over his mouth and looked speechless.

“Gadreel,” Dean choked out. “Gadreel, can you save him?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been without internet for a while now (oh to be poor), but thankfully Google Drive works offline! So I'm a couple chapters ahead and sneaking onto my cellphone's crappy hotspot to post this!

\--- **Castiel** \---

After finishing dinner, Jensen paid for the bill, before looking across the table at Castiel. “Have you been to Seattle before?”

Castiel turned, glancing out the nearby window at the lights of the city surrounding them. Jensen’s question had him remembering back to a few different hunts he had helped the Winchesters on. “Only the outskirts. We usually avoid cities. Dean hates traffic.”

Jensen laughed, “Yeah, Jared and I joke about that a lot. We think there should be an episode showing the boys stuck in traffic.” He stood, prompting Castiel to follow suit, as they headed for the restaurant exit. Jensen held the door and smiled. “Pike’s Market is still open, and only a couple blocks away. Wanna walk?”

The sun had started to slowly set over the Olympic Peninsula, so as they started walking in the direction of the Market, Castiel frowned. “What is… Pike’s Market?”

“It’s an open market filled with a variety of crafts and goods that people sale. It’s an experience — you’ll enjoy it.” 

As they walked, they both remained quiet, each in their own heads about the night and where life had left them, Castiel suspected. He had his hands tucked into his pockets as he imagined what it would be like to go to dinner with Dean. They had shared meals, of course, but never something as intimate as what he and Jensen just experienced. 

Despite always being highly aware of the tension between himself and Dean Winchester, as an angel he had brushed off the feelings as much as possible. A voice always nagged at the back of his brain telling him that there was no way his feelings were real. How could an angel fall for a man? Sure, it wasn’t unheard of, but men were made in God’s image… perfect in their imperfection… and he definitely didn’t deserve that after all of his sins.

“You know,” Jensen started, before his voice trailed off. They had come to a stop at an intersection, waiting for the light to change and their turn to come up. Castiel let his eyes drift over to the man, noting the nervous way he rubbed at the back of his neck with one hand. Dean Winchester _never_ acted nervous. It was a bit surprising to see such a simple gesture taking place. Finally, the light changed, and as if he had paused his thought while waiting, Jensen began talking again as they began walking. “You’ve always been my favorite character on the show. And not just… not just because of my relationship with Mish. I’m just… fascinated? I guess, by the whole angel thing.”

The idea made Castiel scrunch up his nose a bit. “Me? How could you be fascinated by me?”

“You’re an _angel._ You’ve seen things that mortal man could only dream of. Like—” Jensen started to sound excited for the first time since Castiel had met him, “What was creation like? Did you watch the Roman Empire fall? Were dinosaurs _awesome_?”

And there it was. In the middle of downtown Seattle, Castiel turned to Jensen and saw a very familiar twinkle in his green eyes. 

_Dean._

\---

They spent a couple hours wandering the market, before finally settling in at a bar with a perfect view of the water. As Castiel told stories of grandeur about the beginning of Earth and human civilization, they drank beer and toasted to the Winchesters. Staring down yet another empty glass of beer, Castiel tried to figure out why his head was so foggy when the last time he had drank, he had hardly felt a thing.

“We should head back,” Jensen mused, voice drifting across the melay of empty glasses. “You cool to walk?”

Castiel chuckled. “What else am I going to do? Fly?”

Jensen laughed, before waving down the waitress and quickly settling their tab. He had a nice laugh, Castiel suddenly thought. Smooth, easy, like the sound of whiskey sliding over ice cubes and filling a glass.

He blinked and suddenly they were back on the streets of Seattle, swaying a bit as Jensen guided them towards their hotel. When had they left the bar? Castiel rubbed a hand along his forehead, feeling both unsettled and… happy? “I think I’m drunk,” he mumbled, his tongue feeling weird in his mouth. “Is this what drunk is?”

Jensen’s arm wrapped around his waist and pulled their bodies together as they swayed to a stop at a redlight. “Yes, angel, it is,” Jensen answered with a laugh. “Nice right? Can’t even remember the things you’re supposed to be worried about.”

_Angel._ “I do… I do kinda like it.”

He had no idea how they made it to their hotel room. It was all a blur of passing cars and magical doors that opened when they walked close. A friendly voice saying, _’Good evening, sirs.’_

The sound of a soft beep and the opening of a door, brought him back to clarity. He followed Jensen into the hotel room and laughed softly at the solitary bed. Why was everything funny? Why had he been worried about things earlier? Pulling off his jacket, he tossed it towards the sofa across the room and sat down on the edge of the bed so that he could tackle the issue of taking his shoes off.

Jensen had also ditched his jacket somewhere, and when Castiel took a quick glance up at the other man, he saw his reflection in a large mirror, as Jensen produced a small bottle of whiskey from fridge and poured it out into plastic cups. _Dean,_ his brain provided once more. He stopped, one shoe off and one shoe held in his hand, as his eyes traced the outline of broad shoulders in the pristine white dress shirt that the other man was wearing. 

It reminded him of too many cases spent posing as FBI agents. Playing pretend in a world of monsters. What was a little more pretending, in the grand scheme of things?

Jensen turned, holding a cup of whiskey out to Castiel. Cas reached for it, after tossing the second shoe aside, his fingers brushing over an all too familiar hand. He downed the whiskey in one swallow, let the cup drop to the floor, surged to his feet. Soon his hands were brushing over the slightest bit of rough hair on the face of a man that, to be honest, he had thought about kissing for a lot longer than one evening. He held their, Dean — no, Jensen’s — face in his hands, familiar green eyes watching him so closely.

And then he moved. Drunken brain be damned. He kissed the other man with slightly chapped lips, chasing the flavor of whiskey and beer and trying to remember why he had waited so long.

Another empty plastic cup hit the floor as shaky hands moved up to curl around Castiel’s neck and dig gentle fingernails into the hair at the back of his head. A moan. A movement. Suddenly Castiel was moving, his lips still attached to Jensen’s even as he began to fall backwards. They landed with a soft thud onto the king-sized bed and Castiel left one hand tracing over Jensen’s face, as the other moved down to tug at the neatly pressed shirt the other man was wearing. 

The first brush of his fingers along the skin of Jensen’s stomach, seemed to ignite a flurry of need between them. In between harried, breathless, kisses, they scrambled to shed clothing that was quickly becoming cumbersome. Jensen tossed Castiel’s shirt across the room at the same time that he rocked his hips down in a perfect motion that had Castiel crying out. 

“Fuck,” Jensen breathed, lips blazing a trail down Castiel’s neck.

“That would be nice,” he groaned back.

Though the pace was frenzied, there was still something inherently _Jensen_ about every movement. Even if pretending would be nice, Castiel couldn’t seem to find the focus to pretend that Dean would care that much about tracing his tongue along a long since forgotten scar.

His partner didn’t seem to be having the same issues. Jensen flicked open the button of Castiel’s pants and lowered the zipper in a hurry. When his hand ducked beneath the cloth to wrap around Castiel’s hard cock, Castiel could hear the breath of a whisper leaving his lips.

“Fuck, Mish.”

Sober Castiel might have backed away then. Drunk Castiel was all too happy to go along with the charade. If that was what Jensen needed… 

“Please,” he begged, voice an octave higher than normal. He had seen enough online footage of Misha Collins to know exactly how he sounded.

Jensen’s fingers moved to the edge of his pants and began pulling them off. When the dropped to the floor, they were followed a few moments later by Jensen’s own. Naked, Jensen sat up a bit and looked around the room. For a moment, Castiel thought he had gone too far with the voice thing, and Jensen was coming to his senses. 

Instead, the other man moved over to the hotel room’s dresser and began unzipping the small suitcase that was laying there. He let out a triumphant noise, and Castiel watched him turn around and wink, holding up a small bottle of lubricant.

“Always prepare for anything,” Jensen said with a soft chuckle. Soon he was crawling back over Castiel’s body, kissing a path along his chest, even as he opened the lube and drizzled it over Castiel’s cock.

“Fuck!” He cursed, hips jumping at the sudden coolness hitting his skin.

Jensen laughed, hand wrapping around Castiel’s cock, smoothing the lubricant over his skin. “Don’t be a baby.”

“I’m not—” His words were cut off as Jensen straddled his waist and found his lips for another kiss. Distracted by the dueling of tongues, he barely recognized what the other man was doing until he felt the warmth and pressure on the tip of his cock. His head rolled back and he groaned. _Fuck,_ but it felt amazing. Blinking his eyes back open, he watched, mesmerized, as Jensen slowly worked himself down onto Castiel’s cock. 

If that was the view that Misha got on a regular basis, then he was a damn lucky man. He blinked again, and suddenly it was Dean, not Jensen, beginning to ride his cock. Scars of a life well lived as a hunter running down his chest, haunted look in his eyes. Castiel reached up, tracing a piece of skin on the other man’s side, where he had watched Sam patch Dean up after a vampire takedown. Twenty-two stitches. Castiel had sat and quietly counted each one as it was tied off. He had been hovering in another dimension, concern for Dean keeping him close, even though he knew his presence wasn’t wanted at that moment.

“Mish.”

Jensen’s skin was unblemished. Just a spattering of freckles that had never seen the darkness of a hunter’s life.

“Fuck me,” he growled, voice more Misha than Castiel, hands gripping hard onto Jensen’s hips.

The movements grew in speed and lost their easy coordination, as Jensen began to focus more on chasing his own orgasm. Castiel watched a bead of pre-come drip from the other man’s cock, onto his own stomach, before he realized that his own touch could help matters. Wrapping his hand around Jensen’s cock, he used the dribbling pre-come to ease the way as he began stroking the man to completion. 

“Please,” Jensen gasped.

Castiel circled his thumb around the head of Jensen’s cock. “Come for me,” he whispered. _Misha_ whispered.

“Fuck!” Jensen cried out, voice whiskey rough as he came.

It was just enough. Enough for Castiel to close his eyes and picture Dean as he slammed his hips up one last time.


	8. Chapter 8

\--- **Misha** \---

There was an incessant knocking pulling him from his sleep. Misha groaned, rubbing a tired hand over his face. “Come in,” he called, knowing that the trailer door was unlocked. Rolling onto his back, he stared at the white ceiling for a moment, before turning to look at the PA that had opened the door.

“We’re done for the day,” she said, looking up from her clipboard. “They had a malfunction on one of the rigs, so we have to quit early. Jensen asked me to let you know. Said the car will be here in twenty.”

“Thanks, Kara.”

As the PA closed the door back, Misha stretched out and tried to finish waking up from his nap. He had been given a forty-five minute break on set, and after getting barely four hours of sleep between the last two filming days, had chosen to rest while he could. Finally sitting up, he checked his watch and smiled when he realized that he would have a whole afternoon free with his husband. That didn’t happen nearly as often as they both would like. So was life.

Quickly packing up his things into his backpack, Misha pulled a jacket on, before slinging the pack over one shoulder and heading out of the trailer. Walking across the lot, he waved goodbye to a few people and beelined for his husband’s trailer, stepping inside without knocking. At one point, right after they got back to set after their honeymoon, someone had made the suggestion that they start sharing a trailer. Misha and Jensen had shared a knowing look, before politely declining the offer. At work, they liked to focus solely on the job — and being in close proximity during down times would definitely lead to some distracting activities taking place.

The living area was empty, so Misha turned his gaze towards the hallway that lead back to the trailer’s bathroom and bedroom — right as Jensen poked his head out of the bathroom door. His hair was wet, and his chest was bare with droplets of water sliding down his skin. _Just out of the shower,_ Misha licked his lips, even though he knew they didn’t have time for anything before the car would be there.

Jensen smiled at the sight of him. “Hey, babe. I’m almost done. Any ideas on how to spend our glorious afternoon of freedom?”

His husband ducked back into the bathroom, but the door remained open so that he could hear Misha’s reply. “I was thinking we should go downtown and try that new curry place we’ve been hearing about.” There was a soft ‘oooh’ from the direction of the bathroom. Stepping away from the door, Misha walked the small distance to Jensen’s fridge and opened it to see what kind of items were inside. Mostly he was just keeping his hands busy in preparation for his next statement. “Maybe we could see if Maria Carroll has an afternoon appointment opening.”

_Silence._

Misha closed the refrigerator and turned, leaning back against the nearby counter. It took another two minutes of silence, before Jensen walked out, pulling a t-shirt over his head and looking at Misha with hope in his green eyes. “Are you serious?”

His nod was cut off by a very excited husband wrapping him up into a hug and kissing him passionately.

When Jensen pulled back, his face was split into a wide smile. “I love you, Misha.”

\---

“Misha? Misha!”

He slowly blinked his eyes open, head pounding. What had he drank? God. He hadn’t had a hangover that bad in a long time. He focused on the worried green eyes staring down at him. “Jensen. What the fuck did we do last night?”

His husband shook his head. “I’m not Jensen.”

Misha brought a hand up to his forehead and let his head lull back to where it had been laying before. “Why do you always want to roleplay in the mornings? Weird ass motherfucker.” Jensen pulled away, standing back up. It was then that Misha looked around enough to realize Jared was standing there as well — and he was apparently laid out on the floor, judging by the angle and the giants standing over him. _Fuck._ “Are we on set? Fuck, we’re on set. I just said that in front of everyone, didn’t I?” He pointed a finger at Jared. “If you say one fucking word, I am putting Nair in your shampoo bottle.”

“Misha,” Jensen spoke, “this isn’t a set. You switched universes with Castiel, remember? I’m really Dean. That’s really Sam.”

He stared at their faces for a long time, before it finally started to come back to him. _Shit._ That explained the headache. Slowly, with Dean’s help, Misha sat up and looked around. His gaze landed on his shirt and the fresh blood coating the front of it, and he could suddenly remember what happened. He brought a panicked hand to his chest, but couldn’t feel any pain. Lifting his bloody shirt up, he noted that his chest was free of wounds. Surprising, since he could still remember the fiery hot stabbing to his heart… “What happened?”

“You died.”

Well that was a new one. As the Winchester brothers helped him to his feet, an ironic voice in Misha’s brain mused about how he could finally say that he had died and come back to life, just like everyone else on Supernatural. “Can we…” the words ‘go home’ stuck in his throat, joined by a memory of whatever he had been experiencing just a few moments prior. “Get outta here?”

\---

Resurrection was a weird pill to swallow. Misha rode in the passenger seat of the Impala (Sam was driving the pickup truck) and remained silent for the entire drive back to the bunker. Once there, he ignored Kevin and the brothers and went straight to the room that they had designated as his — stripping off his bloody clothes and searching through the drawer that held the few clothes he had acquired during his stay at the bunker. He ended up pulling on an old band t-shirt that was definitely Dean’s, and lounge pants that were definitely Sam’s, considering the extra six inches around his feet.

_”Maybe we could see if Maria Carroll has an afternoon appointment opening…”_

His own voice rang out in his mind, followed by a figurative stab to the heart that hurt just as much as the real thing. 

Anger followed the pain, and Misha reached out to grab the first object he could find — and old desk clock — spun around, and hurled it across the room. It hit the opposite wall and shattered, the glass from around the timepiece and the wood of the base raining down. 

That’s how his heart felt.

The lamp went next. Then a group of books that were shoved from the desk. A solitary piece of paper with his own hand writing fluttered to the floor. _Anniversary._

Misha grabbed the corner of the wooden desk and up-turned the entire thing with a scream of rage.

He died! He had _died_!

One stupid fucking mistake in a universe that wasn’t his own had almost cost him every possible chance that he might have to see his husband again!

He was ripping the sheets from the bed and cursing every diety that he could think of, when the bedroom door opened. “What?!” he yelled, breathing hard as he turned to look at the door.

Dean Winchester leaned against the doorframe holding two bottles of whiskey. “Come on,” he quietly replied.

Misha opened his mouth to tell Dean where he could shove his fucking invitation, when his eyes landed on the bottles of golden liquid and he realized how nice it would be to just _forget._

He followed.

They walked the halls of the bunker for a few minutes, down a path that Misha didn’t know and hadn’t bothered to explore. When Dean opened the door that they finally arrived at, Misha frowned. “What the—”

“Don’t tell Sam. We’ve each designated our private spots in the bunker. Spaces where the other isn’t allowed.” 

The room was about as large as all of the other bedrooms in the bunker, but was empty except for two pieces of furniture: a ratty looking sofa, and a coffee table placed in front of it. Covering all four walls, was the part that immediately grabbed Misha’s attention. Newspaper clippings and victim photos… he stepped closer, reading a few. “Are these…?”

“Everyone that we’ve ever saved.” Dean set the bottles of whiskey down on the table and moved over to where Misha stood. He pulled a photo from his pocket and slid the corners of it between a couple of others so that it would remain on the wall. Misha blinked, surprised to see his own face staring back at him. They both stood there for a moment, staring at the picture, before Dean finally clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s get drunk, shall we?”

\---

They were only halfway through the first bottle, both stretched on the sofa, when Dean asked the question.

“How long have you two been married?”

“Almost four years.” Misha couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of his own face staring at him from across the room.

“Jensen, right?” Dean took another swig from the bottle and handed it back to Misha. “Sam told me. I mean… I had wondered, based on the way you were acting, but… yeah.”

“It’s like a daily slap in the face,” Misha mused. He drank a long swallow of the whiskey, appreciating the burn, before he turned, handing the bottle back and staring into familiar green eyes. “The person you’re missing being _right fucking there._ And it’s real but it’s not real, and you just want to pick up the phone and call him.” His eyes started to water as he looked down and watched Dean’s ring-free left hand wrapping around the neck of the bottle. “Call him and tell him how stupid you are for not spending every second telling him how much you love him.”

“I…”

Silence settled between them for a moment, and Misha shook his head as he let go of the bottle and turned back to the pictures surrounding them. “Don’t. It’s fine. You don’t know what to say, and I don’t even know what I’d want you to say.”

A few more minutes of silence, then, Dean asked, “Did you have an episode where Zachariah sent me to the future? Well, an idea of the future.”

Misha laughed, remembering the episode all too well. “The End.” At Dean’s curiously raised eyebrow, Misha clarified, “That was the episode title.”

“Clever.” After a quick roll of his eyes, the other man continued. “I slept with him.”

The words caught Misha off-guard, and he sputtered and choked on a mouthful of whiskey. Once he could breath normally again, he stared at Dean in shock, “Excuse me?”

“Castiel. I slept with that version of Castiel.”

That had _definitely_ not been in the script. “Are you serious?”

Dean shrugged, taking the bottle back. “I mean… it wasn’t real, right? Just some illusion that Zach put in my head. Dream, vision, whatever. But there was just…” Green eyes focused on the nearly empty bottle. “There was something about seeing him like that. Less angel, more man. It was a bit endearing. So one night, things just… happened.” Dean gave another shrug, took another drink. As he handed it back, his voice quietly finished, “And the next day, I watched him die.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who started a fulltime job and barely has time to eat and sleep, let alone write? THIS GIRL! So yeah. Apologies and all that jazz.

\--- **Castiel** \---

For the following week, Castiel learned the true definition of having an ‘elephant in the room’ and doing everything possible to ignore it. When he had woken up the morning after his head had hurt a bit, but the main pain had been the empty bed and realization that nothing was as real as he wanted it to be.

Jensen had barely said two words since their night together. They packed up the morning after and drove back to Vancouver in silence. Not knowing what else to do, Castiel just went with it and let it happen. Back at the house, Jensen disappeared into the main bedroom and that was that. The next day, a car pulled up like normal to take them to set, where Castiel once again got to pretend to be himself. On that particular day, he thankfully didn’t have scenes with Jensen, but the tension between them still made the whole experience horrendous, in Castiel’s opinion. 

Finally, once someone had informed him that his day was done, he went in search of Jared. Even if he didn’t admit to what had happened over the weekend, it would still be nice to talk to someone who wasn’t avoiding him like the plague. 

He had no idea what Jared’s filming schedule was for the day, but took a chance and knocked on the other man’s trailer door anyways. To his surprise, the door opened a couple seconds later and Jared’s looming figured stared down at him. 

“Hey Cas,” Jared greeted, motioning for Castiel to climb the stairs into the trailer. “I was just making a snack while I wait for the car to pick me up. You done for the day? I think Jensen was just finishing up.”

Castiel leaned back against the closed door and glanced around at the small space, before looking to his feet. “I was wondering if I could stay at your home tonight.”

Jared paused, knife held in mid air, still slathered with peanut butter on it’s way to becoming a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “Oh? I thought things were going better between you two. Didn’t you spend the weekend in Seattle for the Gishwhes thing?”

It wasn’t exactly easy to explain that _that_ was the entire problem. If he told Jared the truth, would Jared be angry at Jensen? Disgusted with his friend for cheating on his marriage? Because that was how Castiel felt. Marriage was such a sacred thing — a union in the eyes of _God_ and in one moment Castiel had shown weakness and ruined that sanctity for Jensen and Misha. 

It was no wonder Jensen wouldn't speak to him. Castiel could barely look at himself in the mirror — which was one of the reasons why he wasn't seeking Jensen out and trying to get him to talk. He didn't deserve Jensen’s forgiveness.

Apparently he was quiet for too long, because suddenly Jared was a step closer and looking concerned. “What happened, Cas?”

Castiel shivered. His eyes bore a hole in the floor. “We got drunk,” he started, hesitating once more.

Jared seemed to know exactly what he was about to say. Leaning back against the kitchen island, he said, “You slept together.” 

It wasn’t a question.

“I… I…” Suddenly, Castiel was overcome with emotion. His knees dropped to the floor and he ducked his head like he was begging the Almighty for forgiveness. How could he have been such a fool? He choked on a sob as salty tears started to drop onto the floor below. His own _humanity_ had rendered him stupid. His own desire and love for Dean had clouded his vision and sent him down the path of the unholy.

A calming hand laid on his shoulder, as Jared leaned over him. “Cas, it’s okay,” the other man soothed.

But it wasn’t. It would never be. “No!” He shook his head, adamantly. The things he had _done!_ “It will never be okay. How could I do that? Poor Jensen!” His voice cracked, “Poor Misha.”

“You know, it was Jensen’s choice as well.”

Was it, though? Jensen had thought he was sleeping with his husband. “No. No. No. Jensen was drunk. He thought… he thought I was Misha. He didn’t know what was happening, but I could have stopped it.” The tears started to fall harder. “I thought he was Dean. I wanted so _badly_ for him to be Dean.”

Suddenly Jared was kneeling on the floor next to him, curling his long arms around Castiel’s body. He was pulled into the warmth of the other man’s chest as he continued to cry. Because Jared, like Sam, was one of the few people that realized how in love with Dean Winchester he was.

\---

He ended up at Jared’s house for the night, as promised. Unfortunately, Jared had a meeting to go to, so he left Castiel in the swarm of loving dogs and blankets on the sofa. Castiel sat in the silence of the condo for a few minutes, before grabbing the remote and messing around on the television. It didn’t take long for him to pull up old episodes of Supernatural, looking slowly through the explanations of each one until he found a few that were focused around his interactions with Dean.

Even back when it was bad, when the powers of Heaven were influencing his brain, he could still note the affection in his own gaze.

For the next few hours, he watched his own life playing out on the screen in front of him. 

He stopped on one particular episode. Watching the way Dean looked at him and asked for personal space. Surprisingly, he could see his own confused affection for Dean in Misha’s eyes. It was difficult back then to understand exactly what he was feeling — affection was handled so differently by the collective armies of Heaven. And yes, he had heard stories of the few that fell during the beginning of time, weakened angels lured to Earth by skin and touch and the soft curves of God's feminine creations… but he had never been tempted before.

Dean Winchester was different. An enigma. The righteous man, chosen by God to rescue humanity. But more than that, Dean was his own person that Castiel couldn't help but find immensely appealing.

The problem was, his affection for Dean had completely tarnished Jensen and Misha’s marriage. If they were ever able to get their universes righted, how would Jensen be able to look his husband in the eye?

As the episode ended, Jared’s doorbell sounded, causing the dogs to bark and run to the door. With a frown, Castiel followed, commanding the dogs to sit, like Jared had showed him, before opening the door. On Jared's porch, standing in the rain with a bottle of whiskey, was Jensen. 

When the other man realized it wasn't Jared greeting him, he let out a strangled sob. “Figures you would be here. I just wanted to get drunk with my friend and forget you exist, but here you are.”

Castiel immediately withdrew into himself at the harsh words and even harsher tone. He opened his mouth to speak but had no idea of what to say. “I can go,” he finally managed to whisper.

With his free hand, Jensen wiped at his face, mixing tears and raindrops. “I just wanted my husband back,” he breathed.

“I know.”

“It’s just… our anniversary is coming up and he’s…” Jensen fell to his knees. “He’s never going to know!”

Confusion etched itself over Castiel’s features. He didn’t understand what Jensen was talking about. “Know what?”

“That we got approved,” Jensen whispered. “We got approved for adoption.”

\---

They drank the whiskey in silence. Unlike a few nights before when the drinking had been a jovial exchange of stories and reveries, the slow consumption of the bottle of amber liquid was a toast to things lost. Husbands and unrequited love that might never find it’s way back.

Halfway through the bottle, Castiel pressed play on another episode of Supernatural. He smiled at the Dean on screen and broke the silence with a quiet, “I love him.”

Jensen snorted around the mouth of the bottle, “I know.”

“But, I thought—” Castiel frowned, reaching out to take the bottle as he tried to understand what Jensen was saying. 

“You aren’t subtle, Cas.”

_Hmm._ Castiel thought about those words, about the idea that maybe everyone knew of his feelings and everything wasn’t as closely guarded as he expected. 

… and suddenly the dark ugly thoughts that he tried to keep hidden were sneaking back into light. Because if it was so obvious to everyone around him, then why hadn’t Dean said a word? There was only one obvious answer: he was avoiding the topic because he didn’t feel the same way and he was sparing Castiel’s feelings.

His next tip of the bottle lasted a little longer than before. He needed the burn to wash away the pain. He was such a fucking fool to think that the _righteous man_ would ever have feelings for him… a broken angel. And when had Dean ever even shown interest in men? Of course he wouldn’t want Castiel in his current form. Jimmy Novak’s body would never tempt Dean the way that a small town waitress could.

He turned to stare at Jensen, who was watching the television with a whiskey soiled gaze, and for a moment realized that a part of him wished there was no way back. If he was stuck in Jensen’s universe, at least he knew that the other man could end up wanting him, even as a terrible replacement for his husband. 

As he was contemplating how terrible he was for having such feelings, a key sounded in the front door and the dogs rushed off to greet Jared. Castiel passed the bottle back to Jensen as he listened to Jared cooing happily at the dogs. A few moments later, the taller man was walking into the living room and arching his eyebrows in surprise at the sight of them. Jensen and Castiel had spread out on opposite ends of the couch and must have looked a mess after nearly finishing the whiskey off.

With a shrug, Jared moved over and plopped down in the space between them, quickly grabbing the bottle from Jensen and taking a drink. “You two work out your problems?”

Jensen mumbled a soft, “No,” and Castiel didn’t even bother to answer.

“You know, I’ve known Misha as long as Jensen has, and granted, I can’t say I know him _quite_ as well, but I would say he’s one of my best friends.” Jared looked at each of them in turn, before focusing on the television and chuckling. “I just have to say, Misha would think you two were being hilariously pitiful right now. He’d say something about how hot it must have been when you two slept together, and then ask if he could watch next time.”

Apparently the alcohol was affecting him more than he realized, because Castiel was fairly certain he was hallucinating every word that Jared said. “Wait… what?”

Jared nudged Jensen, “Remember that time he tried to convince me to join you two?”

“It was a joke,” Jensen said with a groan.

“Maybe the first time. I’m pretty sure he was serious the second time.” Jared slapped both of them on the knee and stood. “All I’m saying is, I know Misha, and you two are making a much bigger deal out of this than he would be. Because if he was going to approve of Jensen sleeping with _anyone_ other than him, don’t you think Castiel would be his first answer? Someone that looks _exactly_ like him?” Jared called for the dogs and headed for the stairs. “Don’t puke on my carpet!”


	10. Chapter 10

\--- **Misha** \---

* * *

As a means of avoiding the homesickness and general disdain for being stuck semi-permanently in the bunker, Misha took to going on long runs in the woods surrounding the bunker every morning. The fresh air seemed to help settle his soul, but unfortunately the quiet just gave his brain more time to think about his husband. On the fifth day of running, there was someone else standing by the bunker door waiting patiently in running shorts and an old t-shirt.

He tilted his head and stared at Dean, watching the other man stretch. “What are you... doing?”

Dean laughed, shrugging his shoulders and grabbing his ankle to stretch out his right leg. “Thought you might enjoy some company.”

It was something that he had maybe expected from Sam, of course, but Dean? No, not really. Still, the idea of having another body running next to him, was very appealing. Maybe they could talk. Maybe he could ignore thoughts of Jensen. “Sure.”

They set out on a steady pace, Dean letting Misha lead on the route that he was used to. It was his favorite — circling up around the metal and steel of the bunker and to the open meadow beyond. “You know,” Misha mused, “In my reality the bunker exterior is fake except for the entrance.”

“Movie magic, huh?” Dean mumbled with a soft chuckle.

“Not only that, but the entrance is in the middle of this old park, and they had to completely redo it with fresh paint, because it had been destroyed by graffiti and the weather.”

Dean glanced over at him quickly, before focusing back on the path. “And the inside?”

“Sound stages.” They were both quiet for the next few minutes, aside from the deep breathes of exertion. Finally, reaching his favorite spot in the meadow, Misha slowed his pace and took a deep long breath. When he looked up, Dean was staring out over the expanse of open grass with awe in his eyes. “Nice, right?” Misha asked.

“I didn’t know all of this was back here.” Dean followed Misha over and sat down next to him on the fallen log that had become Misha’s ‘ponder’ spot. “How are you feeling? After... _everything._ ”

“I keep having dreams that my husband is sleeping with Castiel.”

Dean coughed, turning to look at Misha in shock. “ _What?_ ”

“Well it started a couple nights ago when I couldn’t sleep. I got to thinking about the fact that we were supposed to spend a night in Seattle a week or so ago, and the room was already reserved with one bed.” Misha shrugged, picking at a string on his hand-me-down shorts. “Did they keep that reservation? Did they share the bed or did Cas offer to sleep on a sofa? And... would I really blame my husband for seeking comfort with someone that looks exactly like me?”

Dean let the silence stretch before asking, “Would you?”

“See that’s the thing... if this is permanent, if we’re stuck in these universes forever, then I would want Jen to be happy with someone else. And wouldn’t it be easiest for him to move on with someone that reminds him of me? I can’t... I can’t blame him for that.”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded, rubbing his hands together and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “This Jensen, would he want you to move on? Would he feel the same way about wanting you to be happy with someone like him?”

Misha opened his mouth to answer, before stopping suddenly and turning to stare at Dean. That sounded an awful lot like a proposition. “You know I’m not him, right? I can’t fool you into thinking I’m Castiel, even if I play him on TV.”

“No,” Dean shook his head, “You aren’t him. To be honest... I’ve never found the nerve to even ask him or suggest it to him. But I can’t deny that I also like you, Misha, and if you’re stuck here in this universe, I’m not going to deny you the chance to be with someone that looks like the man you fell in love with.”

* * *

Two nights later, Misha woke up from a nightmare with sweat covering his forehead and chest. He looked around his room — barely able to catch his breath with the overwhelming fear of death clinging to him. Standing up in a rush, Misha kicked at the sheets tangled around his body.

His hand was shaking as he grabbed the door handle and stepped out into the hallway. He couldn’t be alone; couldn’t be stuck in a room that wasn’t his and reminded of everything. 

On his way to find a liquor cabinet, Misha stopped outside of Dean’s door. In the real world, when he had a nightmare, he would curl against Jensen and let his love ease away his fears. That thought, that memory, had him opening the door and stepping into the darkened room. After closing the door, instinct and memories from the set had him moving to the desk on the left side of the room and flipping on the soft light of the lamp there.

Dean, unlike Jensen, slept on his back and was easy to wake. By the time the light was on and Misha turned back to the bed, Dean was sitting up and arching an eyebrow in question. 

Misha brushed a hand through his already bed tousled hair. “I keep dreaming about dying.”

A corner of Dean’s bedsheets were held up and Misha only hesitated a moment before moving over and laying down in the space next to Dean. He took a few deep breathes, letting the in and out of his own breathing soothe his fears.

“When I was little,” Dean mused, bringing one arm up and tucking it behind his head, “I used to have nightmares where I saw my dad die. Over and over. And Sammy would wake me up, but I couldn’t tell him why I was crying, ya know?”

Misha snuggled down into the sheets, trying to get comfortable. After a few wiggles to find the right spot, he finally moved onto his side to face Dean. “Did you tell your dad?”

“Of course not. It isn’t like he would have cared. Would’a just told me to man up and get over it.”

“Maybe.” Misha shrugged. “Maybe he would have held you while you cried. Never know, really.” Slowly, Misha reached out and traced a couple of freckles on Dean’s cheek. “When I used to have problems sleeping, I’d trace out constellations in Jensen’s freckles.”

Dean snorted, “Sounds like something Cas would do.”

“He probably knows way more constellations than I do.” His finger tip moved to Dean’s arm, the one that wasn’t tucked under his head, and he drew a line between three dots. “You have the same freckles. Right here? Jensen has the same Orion’s belt.”

Raising his head up, Dean looked down at the dots in question. “Huh.” He turned his gaze to Misha and was about to speak, but Misha quickly cut the words off by leaning over and kissing Dean… with only the slightest bit of hesitation.

If he expected kissing Dean to be exactly like kissing his husband, he was wrong. It probably boiled down to the fact that they were different people, had a lifetime of completely different pasts that made them respond in kind. Jensen could be a bit on the aggressive side in bed — never caring top or bottom roles, but always appreciating a rougher, harried experience. 

With Dean? There was no rush, and in fact… everything was gentle and slightly _sweet._

Amazing how it could seem like he was with the same person — they looked _exactly_ alike — but it could be a completely different experience. What was equally amazing was the fact that the rough and aggressive Dean Winchester, an actual killer of monsters and men, was the slow and gentle one in bed.

As Misha was thinking that, he felt Dean pull back and give him an inquisitive look, “Do you ever shut that brain off?”

Misha fell back against the pillow with a soft laugh. “I can’t help that I find it interesting to compare your style with my husband’s!”

“That is… _disturbing._ ”

“Maybe a little.” Still laying back on the bed, Misha reached out his hand and curled his fingers into Dean’s shirt. “Come ‘ere. I promise to try and stop comparing.”

A moment later, Dean hovered over him and met his gaze in the soft light of the lamp. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

They kept the pace of slow kisses for a long while, and at first Misha thought that maybe Dean was holding back, expecting Misha to stop things, but eventually he realized that was honestly Dean’s style in the bedroom.

And it was _maybe_ starting to drive Misha a little insane. Pushing the other man onto his back, he straddled Dean’s hips and stared down at him for only a brief moment, before tugging to get Dean’s shirt up and off. The shirt got tossed carelessly across the room, followed quickly by Misha’s, and then Misha wiggled his hips and glanced down to where they were both hard and straining against their underwear.

“Just out of curiosity,” Misha reached down, slowly running his palm over the hard outline of Dean’s cock. “When you were with that other Cas… did you fuck him? Or, did he fuck you?”

Dean groaned, his head thrown back a bit as he pushed up against Misha’s touch. “Guess.”

He smirked, remembering the few late at night conversations he had taken part in with his husband, debating on whether or not Dean would bottom or top. Misha leaned down, lowering his voice to whisper in Dean’s ear, “Team bottom-Dean all the way.”

“Shit,” Dean hissed, hips raising once more.

That was all Misha needed as an answer — he had argued with his husband that Dean spent so much of his time keeping his life in control, there was no way he would do anything but give up every ounce of that control in bed. He leaned down, sucking on one of Dean’s nipples to test and see if they were as sensitive as Jensen’s ( _yep!_ ), then he allowed his kisses to move lower as he wiggled his body down Dean’s legs. When he got to the elastic of dark gray boxer-briefs, he gave a quick kiss to the outline of Dean’s cock, before slowly pulling the fabric down.

_”Huh.”_ He tossed the underwear aside and stared in puzzlement at Dean’s cock. That was… _different._

After a moment, Dean leaned up on his elbows and looked at Misha. “You’re gonna give me a complex if you keep looking at my dick like that.”

“It’s just…” _Huh._ “Every part of you is the same as Jensen _except_ this part.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Misha looked away from Dean’s dick and met the man’s puzzled gaze. “Jensen’s circumcised.” He looked back down… Dean’s cock was _bigger_ than his husband’s — well, at least it looked bigger, thanks to the extra bit at the tip. He felt his own cock leaking in his boxers; he had never told his husband, but he had a _thing_ for uncut cocks. In college, he had gotten giddy every time he went down on a guy for the first time and found that delicious surprise. He was also uncut, and knew from personal experience the pleasure that could be gained from the sensitive tip of his dick.

But his husband came from a conservative family in Texas, so of course he was circumcised. It wasn’t like Misha could deny the fact that he was in love with the man, just because his secret kink wasn’t being met.

Dean brought his attention back to the present by chuckling and letting his head fall back against the bed. “I used to be. But I guess when an angel saves you from hell and fixes all of your scars, a circumcision cut is considered one of those.”

That made sense. Misha couldn’t help but laugh, though, “Maybe Cas shares my kink for uncut dicks?”

“You are absolutely terrible at dirty talk, aren’t you?” Dean wiggled his hips, “You know, you could do more than just stare at it…”

“Can’t a man have a moment to appreciate the longer, prettier, version of the dick that he swore to love for the rest of his life?”

“Don’t call it _pretty_!”

_Wow._ That was the most _Dean Winchester_ response that Misha had heard from the man. He leaned down, licking slowly along the length of Dean’s cock. When he got to the tip, he gently swirled his tongue around Dean’s foreskin, before looking up and winking. “ _So pretty._ ”

If Dean was going to argue some more, his words were cut off by Misha completely swallowing down his length. Apparently other-Cas was into orgies, but hadn’t inherited the talent of deep-throating, judging by the very unmanly squeak that Dean made when Misha’s nose met the dusting of curly hairs at the base of his dick. When he pulled back up, he replaced his mouth with his hand, slowly stroking Dean as he asked, “You got any lube?”

Dean groaned, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment — obviously trying to get his brain to function again — before reaching over to the bedside table. He pulled the drawer out and rummaged around inside for a bit, before triumphantly holding up a bottle of KY. 

He tossed it in Misha’s direction, who caught it deftly. Once he held it, he looked back up to Dean, “Position preference?”

The other man thought about it for a moment, before rolling over and getting on to his hands and knees. He looked at Misha over his shoulder. “ _Fuck me._ ”

_Jesus._ Presented with Dean’s ass, he couldn’t help but remember the first time he had fucked Jensen. It had been practically a religious experience. He had a feeling that he would always remember fucking Dean for the first time, as well.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man but dealing with BigBangs has kept my attention torn. Apologies for that. The good news is this: I know how this story will end, and that end is in sight!

\--- **Castiel** \---

* * *

The following weekend they were scheduled to attend a Supernatural fan convention, where once more, Castiel would be expected to interact in a one-on-one situation with the fans of the show. Thankfully, Jared sat down with him the week before and showed him some videos of Misha at past conventions, making sure to explain how the questions worked, and how quickly fan photos and autographs would go. _”It’ll feel like it’s taking forever, but I promise that it goes fairly quickly for each person.”_

The only downside to the whole thing, that Castiel could see, was that he was scheduled for Saturday alone, and then Sunday when Jared and Jensen would also be there. So he had to survive a whole day without the assistance of people that knew the situation. If things weren't still awkward with Jensen, he would have asked the other man to join him so that he didn't screw things up. Thankfully, he had a 'handler' that met him at his car and gave him a quick rundown of how things would be going. Jared had called in a favor and requested Castiel's panel time to be moved to that morning, so it would be the first thing that happened and he didn't have to immediately be thrown to the wolves known as photo ops and autographs.

He spent a few moments preparing himself in the green room set aside for the actors, before following his handler towards the backstage area. Jared had made sure he knew the names of all the actors that would be attending the convention, so that he didn't make the mistake of using the names he would normally use in his universe. That would be difficult to explain.

Dressed in a pair of Misha’s jeans and a soft shirt he’d stolen from Jensen’s side of the closet, Castiel waited patiently as someone handed him a microphone and his introduction was given to the crowd of people. 

He’d gotten an idea for how to handle the questions, while they were riding towards the convention center, and as he stepped on stage, he gave a quick wave to the crowd before moving over to where Rob Benedict, that day’s host, was standing. He whispered to the man a quick rundown of his idea, before getting a nod of recognition and moving to the seat placed in the middle of the stage.

“Ladies and gentleman,” Rob spoke, “We have an extra special treat for you guys tonight. I know you were expecting Misha… but apparently he won’t be here until tomorrow’s panel, so in exchange, we have the one and only Castiel, angel of the Lord!”

The crowd went wild and with a shy smile, Castiel waited for everyone to calm down, before finally speaking into the mic. “Thank you, Chuck.” Thanks to his plan, he was able to speak in his normal tone of voice, rather than the higher registers of Misha’s.

Rob stepped closer, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck and playing along, “It’s uh… it’s actually Rob?”

Castiel turned, giving the other man a penetrating stare and waiting. A moment later, Rob ducked his head and fumbled his way off stage, causing the crowd to laugh. He turned back to look in that direction, but was only able to see the first row of people, thanks to the bright lights shining on his face. “ _Hello._ ” The crowd cheered. “I was informed that if I mention something about house lights, I’ll be allowed to see everyone?”

It took a moment, but whoever was working the equipment turned on the lights for the small auditorium and he looked out at the faces of a thousand or so fans. _Insane,_ he thought to himself. 

He stared at the crowd in contemplative silence for a moment, before scrunching his nose up in a frown. “How do I decide which one of you gets to ask me questions?”

Numerous people in the crowd began to scream out responses at the same time, before a number of people pointed towards the right side of the stage. He turned that direction and acted surprised as he noted the line of people waiting behind a microphone stand. “Oh.” He looked the other direction and saw an identical line. “Hello there,” he spoke to the person at the front of the second line. “Have you been waiting long?”

The young girl seemed extremely nervous as she let out a small laugh and spoke, “Only a few minutes.”

“Good. I would hate to subject you to the extended misery of Chuck’s jokes.” The crowd laughed again, but Castiel kept his attention trained on the girl. “What is your name?”

“Um, Sarah, sir.”

“ _Sarah._ You may ask your question.”

“I apologize, Cas, because I had a question ready for Misha, but I just have to say that it’s an _honor_ to meet you in person. I guess I’ll ask this: how are you liking our universe?”

_That_ was a question he could answer honestly. “It’s… strange. Things are easier without a monster jumping out from around every corner, but I miss my powers. I miss being able to help people that are sick. I also miss Sam and Dean.” He sighed. “Sam has never passed gas as dramatically as Jared does.”

“Smells pretty bad, huh?” 

“On one occasion, I’m fairly certain his dog passed out at that moment because of the smell.”

There was laughter, and the fan quickly thanked him and walked away. Castiel focused his attention on the other side of the room. “Hello there.”

“Hi Cas! I’m Natalie. I gotta say… you look a lot different without the trench coat.”

“I was informed that the heat of the stage lights would make the coat unbearable.”

The woman nodded, before continuing, “I was wondering your thoughts on Jensen and Misha being married? Obviously a lot of fans want to see that transfer over into the Supernatural universe and allow Dean and Cas to start dating. Do you know about ‘destiel’? Are you for it or against it?”

The crowd, for the first time, seemed to show their displeasure with the question being asked. Castiel frowned, not quite understanding why people were booing a fairly plausible question. “Natalie, what part of your question upset the crowd? I’m not sure I understand.”

“People don’t like the mentioning of ships.”

Now he was _really_ confused. “Ship? I wasn’t aware that you asked anything nautically related?”

“It’s short for _relationship._ Like destiel. Wincest. Sabriel. There’s a bunch of them.”

His face scrunched up again as he tried to understand what he was being told. “You seem to be taking two character names and putting them together as a portmanteau, correct? Dean and Castiel. Sam and Gabriel. What is wincest?”

“The brothers. Together.”

“Intimately?”

“Yes.”

“ _Huh._ ” He felt like he needed his own question and answer panel just to understand the one he was participating in. Were Jared and Jensen aware of ‘wincest’? “To answer your question, yes, I was surprised to find that Jensen and Misha are married. They seem almost sickeningly sweet together in videos I’ve watched. As far as myself and Dean is concerned, there are two parties included in that equation and I can only speak for one.”

“So you’re for destiel? You love Dean?”

“I love both Dean and Sam.”

“But—”

“Thank you for your question, Natalie.” He turned back to face the other side of the room. He was just coming to terms with his own emotions and thoughts towards Dean… he wasn’t prepared to delve into his psyche in front of a crowd of people.

The rest of the panel went relatively easy. He answered questions about his experiences in the past (‘What was ancient Greece like?’) and ridiculous ones like who he would marry, who he would kill, and who he would copulate with… (‘Fuck, Marry, Kill… Sam, Dean, and Crowley.’) As the panel ended, he thanked everyone for their time and told them all he looked forward to seeing them later.

From there, he was ushered off to do photo ops — which, like Jared had said, went quickly and weren’t very stressful. He focused on what each fan was asking, and did his best to make sure the fan got what they had paid for as far as poses went. More than a few times, a handler would try to rush along the process, while Cas was trying to understand what was being asked of him, until finally, during a quick break, he asked the woman to stop. “I know that’s just how things are done, I understand, but for this weekend, please allow me my own pace?”

The woman seemed baffled by his request, but nodded and let it go, making the rest of the photos pass without drama or issue.

Autographs, unfortunately, were a completely different story. He had practiced signing Misha’s name until his hand cramped, but he still felt like he was messing up every time. When a fan asked him to sign a large portrait as _Castiel_ , he grinned and nodded his head, “Gladly.”

* * *

“How did it go?”

Castiel looked up in surprise. He was back at Jensen and Misha’s house, and had half expected Jensen to continue being a ghost for as long as possible. To see the other man there, standing in the kitchen cooking, was more than a shock. 

After carefully hanging his jacket up, Cas moved over and sat down on one of the barstools lining the kitchen island. “I did the question and answer panel as myself.”

Jensen looked away from the pan and stared at Cas in confusion. “Wait… as Cas?”

“Yup.”

“ _Interesting._ That’s one way of getting through it without making a mistake.” A plate of food got set down on the counter in front of Castiel, before Jensen moved back to dish up his own. “Look, I uh… I wanted to talk to you. About the whole Seattle thing.”

“Jensen, we don’t—”

“No, we do. Tomorrow we’re going to walk into that convention center together and people are going to expect us to be a normal, married couple.” Jensen placed his own plate across from where Cas sat, but remained standing. “Jared is right. Misha would laugh at me for being upset over the whole thing. If this is permanent — God, I hope it’s not, but if it _is_ , then I want you here. I know you aren’t him, but the idea of not having any part of Misha in my life is gut-wrenching. Jared asked me the other day how I would feel if you two hadn’t switched universes. What if Mish just got sent there and I had nothing…” He took a long, deep breath. “The idea alone makes me sick. So… can we call a truce? Go from here as friends, and if time leaves us together… yeah, we’ll cross that bridge, I guess.”

He got it. He got what Jensen was saying. If the choice was between having a different version of Dean, or having to say goodbye forever, Castiel would choose being with Jensen any day. And if Dean and Misha didn’t figure out a way of reversing their circumstances…

Then would it really be hard for him to fall for Jensen?

Castiel held out his hand across the counter. “Truce,” he replied, and he only had to wait a moment before Jensen shook his head and nodded in agreement.

It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was enough for now.


	12. Chapter 12

\--- **Misha** \---

* * *

When Misha woke the following morning, he was still curled up naked along Dean’s side. He expected a part of his psyche to immediately assume it was _Jensen_ he was laying next to, but that wasn’t the case. Mainly because Dean’s snoring was a lot different from Jensen’s; but also because his body had started to get used to the fact that he wasn’t waking up at _home._

Which was really frustrating, since it had only been a couple weeks since he was home. He didn’t want to get used to the wrong universe — it felt like giving up hope if he did so.

A hand reached out to paw at his face. “ _Shh._ Early. Stop thinkin’.”

Misha rolled his eyes and climbed out from under Dean’s arm. When the other man made a muffled protest against his pillow, Misha replied, “Going for a run,” and set out.

On that particular day, his running partner turned out to be the younger of the Winchester brothers… who was stretching casually by the door and motioned towards the spot where two water bottles were waiting. “Cool if I join you?”

He frowned, “Are you guys tag teaming to keep an eye on me when I’m out of the bunker?”

“No?”

“Okay.” He didn’t believe that for one moment, but whatever.

They left the comfort of the building and had run for maybe ten minutes in the early cold of the morning, before Sam finally cracked, “Okay, so maybe Dean asked me to keep an eye on you because you’ve been feeling shitty after the whole _dying_ thing.”

“I figured,” Misha replied, beginning to increase his pace. There was something nagging at the back of his mind that he couldn’t quite catch. Something _wrong_ that he couldn’t put his finger on. They neared the rock that Misha had designated as his turnaround spot and he paused, taking a moment to stretch his legs and catch his breath before he started the journey back. He looked up at Sam doing the same thing, and frowned. “Hey, what day is it?”

Sam looked up, face tight in concentration for a moment before he answered, “I think it’s the twenty-seventh?”

_Shit._ His stomach plummeted as he realized why he felt so bad. “Tomorrow,” he breathed. Fuck, how had he forgotten? It almost made him feel worse _knowing_ that he had forgotten. Instead of answering Sam’s questioning look, Misha turned back towards the bunker and began running again — a little faster, a little more reckless, a lot less stable.

His heart was pumping in his ears, loud and cathartic, drowning out the sound of Sam calling his name. All he could focus on were his thoughts, and the fear that maybe the longer he stayed in that universe… the more he would forget about his real life. He couldn’t stand that thought.

“Misha!”

The scream broke through the fog in his mind, but it was a moment too late. His foot caught on a branch sticking up from the ground and a moment later he was watching the earth come straight at his face. He hit hard, knee slamming into a rock that was also protruding from the ground, hands trying to stop his fall but succeeding only in scraping along the vines covering the path. “Fuck!” he cried out, immediately feeling the intense pain radiating from his knee. 

Sam came up beside him in a rush and quickly worked to get his foot untangled from the root, before gently rolling Misha onto his back. “Shit man,” Sam mumbled, staring down at the knee. Misha raised his head, trying to figure out what was so bad, only to immediately lay back down when he saw the bloody mess.

Yup, he was going to be sick. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. “I’m not gonna be able to walk on it.”

“We aren’t far from the bunker — I can see the roof.” Sam pulled off his shirt and bundled it into a ball, before sliding it under Misha’s head. “Wait here, I’m going to go get Dean and some stuff to stabilize it.”

“Yeah, no, totally cool. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I don’t have my phone or I’d call him instead—”

“Go, Sam.”

* * *

The journey back to the bunker, once the brothers (and Kevin) had arrived with supplies, was excruciating. Kevin suggested having Gadreel heal Misha, but Sam had shook his head. Apparently the angel was almost at a strength level where he could move on to a new host, and with the inevitable battle with Metatron ahead of them, they would need him as a fourth person. 

On top of that, Misha _wanted_ the pain. He deserved it. As they struggled to get him back down the stairs and into the heart of the bunker, he couldn’t help but think about how much better off Jensen was now that he had the angelic Castiel. Castiel wouldn’t forget their fucking wedding anniversary like it was just _some other Monday._

They got him settled onto his bed before Dean went to work on cleaning, sterilizing and setting the wound. When Sam asked if Dean needed him or Kevin to stick around, Dean shook his head and waited for Sam to close the door behind them, before letting his eyes drift up to Misha’s. “What’s going on? Sam said you were running like something was chasing you.”

Misha shook his head, really not in the mood to talk about it. When Dean’s touch hit a particularly tender spot on his knee, he flinched. “Fuck, you got any whiskey?”

“Yeah, I’ll be back, don’t move.” Dean got up and left the room, coming back a few minutes later with a flask. He passed it over to Misha and waited for him to take a few uneasy sips, before he continued cleaning the wound. After another few quiet moments, Dean spoke again, “Is it because of last night?”

“No.” It didn’t exactly _help_ that just the day before he had been fucking someone _other than_ his husband, but he wasn’t going to dwell on that, on top of everything else.

“Then…?”

It was obvious that Dean wasn’t going to let it go. It was like even parts of his personality were different from what Misha would expect him to be. The character Dean that Jensen played would never openly want to talk and discuss feelings and issues. He would just bottle it up inside under year’s worth of the same stuff and a lifetime of alcohol problems. The Dean probing at Misha to _talk_ still had some of the character flaws, but also seemed to be a more adult version of Dean. Fewer Daddy issues; more complex emotions.

Maybe it was the benefit of being a real person and not a character developed by half a dozen writers.

Misha groaned, took another long swig of whiskey, before tightening the lid of the flask and watching Dean begin to wrap bandages around his knee. “Tomorrow is our anniversary. I almost forgot. I don’t know how… it was like when I first got here that was all I could think about, and now I almost let the day come without even remembering?” He frowned. “I’m worried that the longer I stay here, the less I’ll remember of home.” 

Dean sat back once he was finished, and focused on Misha for a moment, before nodding his head and staring at the ground. “I don’t think that’s true, if you want my opinion. I don’t think it’s possible to forget a lifetime over there. Like we said yesterday — you aren’t a replacement for Castiel, and I’m not a replacement for Jensen. If we can’t figure this out… your place here will be an addition, not a replacement.”

Before Misha could reply, there was a knock on the door, followed by Sam poking his head in. He smiled quickly at Misha, before looking at his brother. “Charlie just called. She’s on her way over and will be here in a minute.”

“What? Seriously? Awesome!”

Sam nodded, “Mish, I’m making lunch, want a sandwich?”

He put the flask onto the bedside table and nodded. “Yeah, and one of those pain pills if you guys have extra.”

“I’ll see what I can come up with.” Sam walked away, pulling the door closed behind him once more.

“I’m gonna go greet Charlie, give her a rundown on what’s been happening. You okay here for a bit?” As he asked the question, Dean grabbed the remote and placed it on the bed closer to where Misha was resting. “I’m guessing you’ll wanna rest for a bit, but if you need anything just holler, okay?”

“Thanks, Dean.”

* * *

Whatever Sam gave him must have really done a number on his head, because over the next few hours he had weird dreams of witches and the Wizard of Oz. When he finally felt _awake_ again, he pulled himself into a sitting position and looked across the room to see red hair peeking around the door. 

The hair pulled back at being spotted, but Misha chuckled. “You can come in, Charlie.”

She slipped inside, checking the hallway behind her before quietly closing his door. “The boys said to leave you alone, because you might be hopped up on pain pills, but they told me your story and I couldn’t _not_ meet you.”

“Oh fuck.” Misha laid his head back and laughed. “You’ve been fighting the wicked witch. No wonder I thought I was having weird as fuck dreams.”

“Did she come in here? How did you—”

“Read the script. Parts, anyway.” Misha looked back at Charlie and frowned. “Heading off to Oz with Dorothy in a bit?”

She ducked her head, face getting a bit rosy in embarrassment. “Yeah, maybe.”

“I wish you the best,” he sighed. “In theory, it sounds great, but I’m finding that the whole ‘different universe’ concept is a bit exhausting. I mean, I get that it’s different for me… you don’t have a significant other that you’re leaving behind. But, fuck, I would give anything just to call my best friends and chat.”

“Oh,” Charlie deflated a bit at his words, which made Misha feel like shit because obviously she was young and free-spirited and wanted to find adventure. She deserved it, and he was being a dick.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Don’t listen to me. I’m drugged and depressed and dealing with a bunch of shit. Go have fun. You deserve it. Even if you come back tomorrow, won’t it have been better to say you tried, rather than to say you didn’t have the nerve?”

“Yeah… yes, definitely. Thank you, Misha.” She reached for the door handle, waiting a moment before turning back to him, “I think you’ll make it back. I have a good feeling about it.”

“Thanks, Charlie. Have fun!”


	13. Chapter 13

\--- **Castiel** \---

* * *

Cas rode with Jensen and Jared to the convention center the next day. Thanks to the day being about the brothers, he didn’t have anything to do other than a few extra photo ops with the boys. For the most part, he spent a lot of time hanging out backstage so that he could listen to how the boys answered questions. When someone told Jensen happy anniversary, Castiel could hear the pain in his voice and see a glimmer of a sad smile on his face on the large screens blanketing the stage. He thought back and calculated the dates, before realizing that the next day was indeed the day Jensen had said would be their wedding anniversary.

No wonder he had been in a mostly grumpy mood that morning. 

Castiel shook his head and stood up from the table, quickly moving along the back of the stage before ducking into the hallway that led to the room set aside for the actors to relax in. When he got there, Rob and Matt were sitting with someone who Cas knew was _supposed_ to be an actor named Richard… except…

“Misha!” Richard waved him over to the table. “I wasn’t here yesterday because of filming, but I heard you killed it by doing a character q and a, huh?”

“Yeah…” He moved over to the table, walking slowly and drawing out his word as he took a spot at the only empty chair and stared across to _Richard._

“What gave you that idea?”

“Jensen.”

There was something off. A feeling in the room that he absolutely couldn’t describe. In the past, he would have associated the feeling with knowing that a demon or monster was nearby, but there _weren’t_ demons and monsters in that universe so what was really going on? He looked around the room, studying the walls to see if he had missed something.

“You should have seen him, Rich,” Rob spoke up, halfway through a plate of cheese and fruit, “He was spot on.”

“ _Hmm,_ ” came the reply, and it was something so subtle, but Castiel’s eyes moved back to Richard and he suddenly knew what was happening. 

It was impossible… it _had_ to be impossible. “Rich,” he ground out, “Can I talk to you alone for a moment?”

The shorter man nodded, shrugging his shoulders as he obediently followed Castiel back out the door Cas had just came in from. Once they were virtually alone in the hallway, Castiel spun, using his forearm against Rich’s neck to shove the other man against the wall. “Hello, _brother,_ ” Castiel growled.

“Misha? You feeling okay?” The other man struggled a bit, trying to force Misha’s arm away. “This is a weird hello, even for you.”

“ _Gabriel._ I know it’s you. I can _feel_ you.”

There was silence between them for one… two… three beats. And then, “How?” was asked, with the slightest flicker changing in Gabriel’s golden eyes.

“I don’t know. I had accepted that this universe had no powers, no monsters, but I knew immediately that you weren’t _human._ ” Castiel waited another moment, before pulling back and wrapping his arms around Gabriel in a hug. “I thought you were dead!”

Gabriel hugged him back, before pulling away with the slightest pout on his lips. “I was supposed to be. Damn older brothers always causing havoc. I came to this universe to hide out. It’s actually kind of fun… I get to play in the band!”

“And where is the real Richard Speight?” 

Gabe shrugged, “He’s in here. We trade off when one of us is bored and needs a nap.” Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest. “The more important question is why are _you_ here, and not your Misha counterpart?”

“Metatron. He did some kind of spell to kick the angels out of Heaven in our universe, and instead of knocking me to Earth, it made Misha and I switch places. At least, that is the assumption we’re going with, based on the episodes from earlier in the season and how it played out.”

They were interrupted by an assistant running up at that moment, telling Gabriel that he was needed on stage in five. Misha felt panic circulating his system. He needed more time with his brother… he had more questions to seek answers for.

Gabriel laid a calming hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m gonna go get the boys off stage, and think on this whole mess, okay? See if I can come up with a solution.”

* * *

On the walk through the halls towards the photo op room, Castiel was quiet and brooding over everything that he had just found out. When they got to the door, Jensen grabbed his arm and held him back as their ‘entourage’ went on into the room. Once they were alone, Jensen leaned in close and lowered his voice. “What’s going on? You alright?”

Castiel looked up, across the room to where a long line of fans were waiting patiently for their photos. “I um… I think I might have a way home?”

“Seriously?” Suddenly Jensen was grabbing onto him, turning Castiel so that their gazes met. “How? Does that mean Mish can get back to?”

“It turns out that your uh… _Speight_ is actually Gabriel in disguise. He said to give him some time and he was going to see if he could figure something out.” The anxious excitement in Jensen’s gaze was hard to miss. Castiel wanted to feel that same excitement — he missed Dean and Sam — but he also knew what it felt like to get your hopes up, only to have them dashed by reality rearing it’s ugly head once more. There was no magic in that universe, and that was what the entire problem boiled down to. How did he get home without powers?

“Come on.” Jensen nudged at his arm. “Let’s get these photos done so we can go bug Speight about an answer.”

* * *

They met up with Richard (aka _Gabe_ ) over dinner and Jensen and Misha’s house. Jensen suggested that somewhere private would be a better option than a public restaurant. Jared was also there, wearing the same excited-nerd look he’d worn the first time he got to ask Castiel all of his burning questions. He kept them at bay, though, in favor of listening to Gabriel explain things over a table full of pizza and beer.

“I know what spell it will take to perform the ritual, and with my blood, it should go through without the issue of a magic-free realm. The problem is, the items I will need aren’t easy to get.” Gabriel looked remorseful. “I know you want a quick easy fix, but I’m afraid you’ll have to keep pretending to be Misha for one more day. While you guys were working on photos and autographs, I called in some favors and had the items shipped expedited—” Gabe pointed a finger at Jensen, “Speight says you owe him big, by the way.”

Castiel ignored his brother’s last comment. “So you’ll just be switching us back? No other changes?”

“Actually, no. I rewatched some of this seasons first episodes, and if things are playing out fairly identical, I’m going to go with you and fix all of Metadouche’s fuck-ups. I never did like that asshole.”

“Is it possible that anything could go wrong?” Jensen asked, worry in his eyes. “I don’t want Cas or Misha to be hurt by this…”

“They’ll be fine, Cowboy. I’ve traveled between universes multiple times and I’m still normal, right?”

Jensen frowned, “That’s what I was worried about…”

* * *

After Jared and Gabriel had left, Cas finished off his beer and deposited the bottle in the recycling bin, before heading upstairs. He stopped at the edge of the master bedroom, peeking his head in to watch Jensen fussing with making the bed.

“I’m uh—” Cas frowned. “I’m going to sleep in the spare room tonight.”

Jensen looked up, watched him for a moment, then nodded his head and looked back down. “Probably better that way.”

It was at that point that Castiel began to feel really fucking stupid. They had slept together. They had reached a truce and started acting like it was okay to move forward with their lives. All of that… and three weeks later it looked like everything was going to be fixed. _Three. Fucking. Weeks._ The dread that he had felt before, worrying that he had ruined Misha and Jensen’s marriage, started to rise up in his gut again. 

What would Misha say when he got back and found out that Jensen couldn’t even hold off for a fucking month, without fucking Misha’s doppelganger. Would it ruin them completely? 

He waited another moment in the doorway, before ducking his head and crossing the hall to the spare room. He couldn’t help wondering once more if Dean and Misha had fucked. It felt like… the more he knew about Misha, the more he suspected that Dean would like the other man better. Misha seemed to be an easy man to love, and Castiel was a fallen angel that barely even knew what love felt like.

_Stop thinking like that,_ a voice in his brain whispered. 

If only it was so easy. It took him hours to finally fall asleep, and when he did, he immediately began to dream up a scene where he was watching Dean and Misha together, laughing carelessly, touching effortlessly, making _love_ amazingly. He woke in a rush as soon as Jensen joined in, all three men loving each other in a way that Castiel would never be capable of. His body was coated in sweat as he sat in the spare room and stared around him.

What if Dean was actually _disappointed_ when Castiel got back? What if he reacted the way that Dean had on the show… _’I don’t think you should be here, buddy.’_

How would he survive that?


	14. Chapter 14

\--- **Misha** \---

* * *

Misha blinked, feeling a migraine right behind his eyes that had enough pressure forming to make continued sleep seem like a really great idea. He snuggled back down into the covers, hoping that a few more hours would make the pain go away.

There was an insistent buzz of words being spoken around him that made it impossible to do just that, though. He tried to mumble something reminiscent of ‘shut up’ but found his tongue too heavy to move. _Ugh._ He blinked his heavy eyelids once more, trying to figure out why the brothers found it so necessary to keep chatting in his room. They gave him pain pills so he could _sleep_ , not so he could be awoken by their nonsense.

“Cas? Hey! I think he’s waking up.” Why did Dean sound different?

Also... _Cas?_ He frowned at the use of that name, feeling like he’d fallen back in time or some shit. After three weeks, hadn’t they figured out he _wasn’t_ Castiel? 

“Finally! There was nothing in that concoction that should have made him react like that. I didn’t even get a chance to finish the the proverb before he passed out.”

He couldn’t place the second voice, which made him want his eyes to open even worse so he could figure out what the hell was going on. He couldn’t remember drinking _anything_ , let alone a ‘concoction’. All he remembered was falling asleep in his borrowed bed, snuggling into the sweet embrace of morphine.

It felt like it took fifty years for his body to start cooperating and do what his mind was telling it to. Eventually, his eyes were opened and his vision cleared enough that he could see Dean leaning over him looking worried.

He snorted back a laugh because, for some reason, Dean looked more like Jensen in that moment than he ever had before.

“Hey,” Dean said, reaching out a hand to the side of his face. “You feeling alright, Cas? Gabe gave you that drink and you dropped like a fly… hit your head on the table before any of us could react fast enough to catch you.”

“Sleep,” he mumbled, eyes closing again as he turned into the soft touch that felt so much like his husband’s.

“Alright, yeah. You sleep, we’ll keep an eye on you. When you feel better, Gabe wants to try again on the spell.”

_Whatever._

* * *

The next time Misha woke up, he felt a hundred times better. His head was no longer throbbing, his tongue felt like it fit properly in his mouth, and he was wearing possibly the world’s _softest_ pajama set. It felt like _home._

Unfortunately, he had to pee. Still groggy with sleep, he got out of bed and made it across the room to the bathroom. He’d fished his dick out of the flannel pants and was halfway through peeing when he blinked his eyes and looked up, finding himself staring at possibly the ugliest black panther print he’d ever seen… 

And then he started to scream. 

He _knew_ that ugly fucking picture. It was the same picture that Jensen had convinced him to buy on their honeymoon because some little kid had painted it and was trying to sell it. He looked away from the picture and realized it was _their_ bathroom. His… and _Jensen’s._ Everything from the large jacuzzi bathtub that just barely fit both of them, to the ugly shag rugs he’d bought to annoy Jen.

“Castiel?” a voice called from the other side of the bathroom door. “You okay in there? I heard screaming…”

He almost tripped on his pants as he quickly shook off his dick and tucked it away, before washing his hands and tossing the door open. 

He was dead.

That had to be the only explanation. He was dead and in heaven.

Tears streamed down his face as he threw himself at Jensen and wrapped his husband up in possibly the tightest hug he’d ever given anyone. If he was dead… so be it. It was worth it. If he got Jensen back, he would happily accept his fate.

The tears were starting to soak through Jensen’s shirt, and Misha just continued to hug him closer. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

“Mi...Misha?”

He whimpered at the sound of that voice saying his name. He didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know how to accept that whatever was going on, had him back _home_ with _Jensen._

“Holy shit, it worked,” Jensen said, voice sounding equal parts amazed and full of overwhelming love. “I gotta call Gabe.” He snuggled closer to Misha. “In a minute, though.”

* * *

They spent the next hour just sitting on the bed wrapped up in each other, before Jensen finally started to explain everything that had happened. How Castiel had realized Gabriel was hiding out in their universe in Speight’s body; and after a little bit of prodding, Gabe had finally agreed to help them sort everything out. Since Castiel had passed out immediately after drinking whatever Gabe had concocted, they’d assumed that the spell hadn’t actually worked.

It had though. Misha was back in his own universe, not a bit worse for wear.

They moved downstairs to the kitchen, where Misha fixed himself a small snack, while Jen called Speight’s cell phone with the speaker phone turned on so that Misha could hear what was said.

Instead of answering with a normal greeting, Speight picked up the phone and immediately said, “I assume it worked?”

Jensen’s forehead crinkled in confusion. “How do you know that?”

“Because Gabe is gone. I fell asleep when I got home, and by the time I woke up, it was just me in here. I guess he went back to help get everything sorted that Metadouche fucked up.”

“Wow. But, yeah, Mish is back.”

Misha leaned over, speaking closer to where his husband held the phone, “Hey Rich.”

“Misha! Glad to hear your voice — even though until about two days ago I didn’t know you were missing. I’m sure Jen appreciates having you back.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Jensen whispered, and Misha looked up to catch his husband’s heated gaze. He had to agree with that…

“I’m gonna let you lovebirds go, I’ll let you know if Gabe shows back up though, okay?”

“Thanks, Rich.”

* * *

He spent the rest of the day getting caught up on things he missed — watching hilarious videos of Castiel in his place at fan events. It was unexplainable how nice it felt to be home, but there was also a large elephant in the room that seemed to be hovering, keeping them on edge.

It wasn’t until he walked back into their master suite that night, watching his husband start stripping out of his clothes, that he realized why he felt so on edge.

_Dean._ He had _slept_ with _Dean._

He dropped onto the edge of the bed, sitting with his head in his hands as he tried to figure out how he was going to admit to his husband that he was a fucking cheater. And what about Castiel? Had Jensen…?

Jensen, wearing a soft pair of boxer-briefs and nothing more, crawled onto the bed behind Misha and wrapped his arms around the other man. “You can tell me,” Jen whispered, “I won’t be mad. We’ll feel better after we talk about it.”

His heart was heavy and he blinked away tears, “Talk about how I cheated on our marriage? How will that make us feel better?”

“Misha, we were in an impossible situation that seemed permanent. And when we sought comfort? We went to the people that looked _exactly_ like our partners. I’m not saying I don’t feel just as bad. I know that if, in the beginning, someone had told me it was only a temporary switch, I would have never even considered doing what I did. But, Jared gave some surprisingly sound advice… if you were to sleep with _anyone_ outside of our marriage, the person I would feel most comfortable with you being with, would be Dean.”

“So you and Cas…”

“Yeah.”

Misha took in a deep breath, before slowly letting it out again. “We’re going to have to work through this, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, I don’t think it’s going to be an easy fix.” Jensen began pulling at the hem of Misha’s shirt. “But for now?” Once the shirt was tossed aside, he wrapped his arms around Misha, hands brushing over his bare chest as he kissed the back of his neck. “For now, I’m more worried about spending the first night with my husband that I have in way too long.”

Something suddenly dawned on Misha and he turned around, a smile crossing his face. “Happy anniversary, Jen.”


	15. Chapter 15

\--- **Castiel** \---

* * *

Thanks to the fact that it was built solidly underground — there was never anyway of knowing what time of day it was when you woke in the bunker. When Castiel blinked his eyes open on that particular day, though, he was less worried about the time, and more concerned with the fact that he was actually _in_ the bunker. There was no denying his room there — Dean had jokingly put up both a poster of bees, and a poster of a small kitten clinging to a rope (that said ‘hang in there’) on the walls opposite his bed so that they were always the first things he saw when he woke.

He was _home._

Castiel moved to jump out of the bed in a rush… only to slam immediately into the floor when his leg gave out and a flash of pain hit him. He cried out at the sudden burst as he laid face down on the floor and tried to think of what exactly could have happened to land him in that spot. 

“You idiot,” a voice spoke from the other side of the room. “Can’t give me ten fucking minutes to clean up the mess in Heaven before you’re hurting yourself?” _Gabriel._

“I think I was already hurt,” he moaned. “My body was, anyway.”

Gabriel moved into Castiel’s field of vision and he saw his older brother roll his eyes, before reaching out and laying two fingertips to Cas’ forehead. “These humans. You let them borrow your vessel for a couple days and suddenly they’ve broken it.”

Once the pain and discomfort from the injuries was gone, Castiel pulled himself upright and looked around. “So we’re back? For real?”

“Yes.” Gabriel finally looked at Castiel with a sarcastic smile. “I’ve taken care of Metadouche. I mean seriously… I thought Lucifer was bad.”

“And heaven?”

“Gonna need your boytoys to help unlock that one. I have a spell for it, but I’ll need their assistance.” 

Shit. He felt his heart race at the mention of the Winchester brothers, and he pushed past Gabriel to make his way to the door. There was an uncontrollable longing rippling through his heart and he _needed_ to see them.

Out of the room he paused for a moment, listening for the sound of voices and then quickly following them towards the bunker’s kitchen. Standing in the doorway, he remained quiet as he watched the brothers. Dean sat with his back to the door at the kitchen table, while Sam stood across the room making coffee. Kevin wasn’t there, but he wasn’t normally a morning person, so it didn’t really surprise him. Castiel turned his head to the left, looking down the hallway for his brother. Gabriel rested against the wall, arms crossed and the smallest of smiles on his face.

His hand made a small waving motion. _Go on._ And Castiel turned back to the kitchen. When he did, his found Dean staring at him, looking confused as he sat turned in his seat. 

“Mish, you shouldn't be up on that leg. If you needed something, you coulda hollered.”

Castiel smiled, because the fondness that he always saw in Dean’s eyes was still there… but _different._ Dean had felt something for Misha, that much was obvious, but it wasn’t as intense as the feelings he felt around Castiel.

“Hello, Dean.”

The other man stood from the table, at the same time that Sam turned to look at him in surprise. Dean stepped closer, hesitating, “Cas?”

His smile grew as he stepped forward into the kitchen, hesitating only a moment before falling into Dean’s arms in a hard hug. “I’ve missed you,” he breathed against the side of Dean’s neck.

Dean squeezed a bit harder for a moment, before he pulled back and took a deep breath while Sam stepped forward for his own hug. “How did you get here?” Sam asked. “We’ve been trying everything—”

Once the welcome hugs were over, Castiel motioned behind him at the doorway. “Come on, bozo, they’re going to see you eventually.”

It took a moment, but Gabriel finally rounded the corner. “Surprise?”

“You!” Castiel reached out, stopping Dean before he could attack Gabriel. “You’re supposed to be dead! All the shit we’ve been through and you’ve been hiding out somewhere?”

Gabriel sighed, moving into the kitchen and sitting down at the table. “I had no other choice, okay? Lucifer was out for blood and no matter what I did, he was gunning for me. I kept an eye on things from afar, making sure that the idiots didn’t get their damn apocalypse, but that was all I could do.”

“He was in Misha’s universe,” Castiel supplied, sitting down across from Gabe at the table. “He was sharing a body with the guy who plays Gabriel on TV which is… really weird.”

Dean sat down, still looking a bit confused, but obviously starting to get it. “He switched you both back.”

“Yes.”

“And took care of your Metatron problem,” Gabriel supplied. “I also have the remedy for opening Heaven back up, I’m just going to need some help.”

* * *

For the rest of the afternoon, the four of them plus Kevin worked to get the ingredients put together for Gabriel’s spell. Since they had to have a full moon for the process — which was three days away — they called it good with getting everything together and waiting patiently. After a night of laughter, beer, and pizza, Castiel stepped into the hallway, heading back for his bedroom, and felt like a weight was lifting off of his shoulders. He was home. Life was getting back to normal. Most of the evil beings in their lives had been taken care of — save Abaddon, who Gabriel also had a plan for vanquishing.

He reached out a hand, ready to grab onto his rooms door handle and go inside, when a voice stopped him from a few feet back. “Cas?” He turned his head, smiling at Dean standing in the doorway of his own room dressed in nothing but a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. “You got a minute?”

When Dean nodded his head in the direction of the room behind him, Castiel quietly agreed and followed him inside. As soon as the door had closed, shutting them alone in the room, Dean moved in front of him, shoving Castiel back against said door and… quickly capturing his lips in a kiss.

Castiel let out a very uncharacteristically loud _squeak_ of surprise, but as soon as the moment passed, he tilted his head a bit, allowing the kiss to deepen as his hands moved up to dig in Dean’s hair. The kiss was everything he’d ever wanted, while also being different from anything he had ever imagined. It reminded him of his favorite spot in Heaven, the warmth from the sun that tickled over his skin just right, the smell of happy trees and plants singing to the breeze.

When Dean finally pulled back from the kiss, his head dropped down to rest on Castiel’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I never meant to do that so suddenly and without asking first, it’s just that I’ve waited so long and I thought I’d never get you back and—”

Castiel cut his rambling words off by leaning forward for a second kiss. He, amazingly, understood everything that Dean was saying and feeling. “It’s okay,” he whispered between kisses.

There was a salty tang on his lips and he realized suddenly that one or both of them had shed a few tears in the process. He pulled back again, laughing gently as he tugged at Dean’s shirt. “We have a lot to talk about, I know, but for now I just… I need you, Dean.”

It awakened something inside the other man and suddenly clothes were being thrown haphazardly around the room and Castiel was landing with a soft ‘thud’ against the memory foam mattress. 

When Dean leaned over him, obviously moving in for another kiss, Castiel placed a hand on his chest to stop him and began slowly tracing along the various scars there. “I know you in and out, Dean Winchester. I know your thoughts and feelings towards commitments and relationships and I respect that… but I want you to know that I am here for every aspect of yourself that you are willing to give over.” His blue eyes blazed a bit as he met Dean’s. “Forever.”

“Good.” Dean kissed the side of his lips as his hands began trailing paths down along Castiel’s bare body. “Because you are the exception to every one of my rules, Cas.”

Sex with Jensen had been just that… _sex._ He had felt the love from Jensen’s side of things, but knew that it was mostly caused by the fact that Jensen _thought_ he was Misha in that moment. What happened with Dean that first time, was something on a completely different level. Castiel had always been able to feel the aura of Dean’s spirit, see the brightness that shined around his perfect soul, but in that moment, after enjoying every second of letting Dean open him up with both his hands and mouth, Castiel saw the yellowy hues of Dean’s aura turn a bright and vibrant red. 

_Love_ , a voice whispered in his head, and he had to bite his lip to hold back a cry as Dean slid inside for the first time. It didn’t hurt… it felt _amazing._

His short fingernails scraped along the skin of Dean’s back and he gasped out a moan every time a thrust hit _just right._

As things got more sporadic, Dean bent Castiel’s legs back a bit more so that he could lean forward as far as possible and nibble on Cas’ jaw. Then, a moment later, he whispered on a rushed out breath and a gasp of ecstasy, “I love you, Castiel.”

In that moment, on the edge of one of the greatest orgasms of his existence, Castiel realized one very important truth…

Human beings spent their entire lives searching for ‘Heaven’, and Castiel had found it in the arms of an imperfect man named Dean Winchester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the story, chapter 16 will be a quick look into the future. Thanks for joining me on this long af ride! I'm glad you've all enjoyed so much. :)


	16. Chapter 16

\--- **The Future** \---

* * *

“There is no way this is actually going to work.”

“Everything else he’s done has worked. I mean, the angels are back in Heaven, Abaddon is dead, Metatron is gone… _Cas_ is back.”

Castiel smiled briefly at Sam, before looking back to where his brother was fiddling with one of the old bunker televisions. He had, over the last day, completely torn the thing apart before putting it back together with a few extra magical components. The whole thing was supposed to be ‘easy peasy’ as Gabriel put it.

“Aha! Wait for it—” his brother flipped one last switch on the television and then, like magic (because it was) a picture came up on screen.

Not just any picture though… it was a live feed of Jensen, Misha, and Speight… sitting in their own universe and watching back. Castiel moved into the seat that Gabe vacated and waved at the screen. “Can they hear me?” he asked his brother.

Before Gabriel could answer, Jensen leaned forward a bit and smiled. “Yes, Cas, we can hear you.”

“ _Holy shit,_ ” Dean growled, circling the table and looking over Cas’ shoulder at the screen. “Hi Mish. Damn…” Dean focused on his counterpart in the other universe, “No wonder you married him, I’m pretty good looking in your universe.”

“Every universe,” Misha replied with a wink. A noise happened off screen on their end and Misha told everyone he’d be right back, before stepping out of view of the camera.

“Is everything back to normal?” Castiel asked. “How is filming?”

Jensen grinned, “Much better now that we have a _professional._ How are things there? Taken care of all your issues?”

“Yes. Gabriel helped us get a lot of things settled and for now… things are surprisingly calm.” Castiel shrugged, glancing briefly at Dean before looking back to Jensen, “I’m sure that won’t last long, but we’ll take whatever we can get.”

“Good.”

Suddenly Misha was back in the frame, carrying a squirming bundle wrapped up in a blanket. “Cas, Dean… we wanted you guys to meet the newest addition to our brood.” He moved the blanket back and the chubby face of a happy baby boy looked towards them. “This is Alexander. We just finalized the adoption and brought him home last week!”

“Wow.”

“Congrats, guys,” Dean and Sam stated almost simultaneously.

Misha began talking rapidly about _Xander_ (Jensen swore they were eventually gonna call him Alex), giving out information like any proud first time parent.

While he spoke, Castiel felt a familiar hand resting on his left shoulder and squeezing gently. He glanced up, catching Dean’s gaze for only a brief moment and they both smiled.


End file.
